


Through Everything

by ignite



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Discussions of slavery, Fluff, Lyrium Tattoos, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Mystery, PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, So much angst, Violence, fenris' backstory and all the content warnings that come with it, protective!varric, soooo much fluff too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 125,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignite/pseuds/ignite
Summary: “Where’s Hawke?” The dwarf walked up to Alaslan, an angry look in his eyes. His giant crossbow did not look friendly.“Who?” asked Lan, at the exact same time as Cassandra asked “That is the elf from Kirkwall?”She had bared her blade once more, although she seemed to hesitate whether to use it on Lan or on the dwarf.“What did I do, now?” asked Lan, genuinely curious.“He said his name was Alaslan,” said Cassandra.Nervous, Lan tucked his hair behind his ears, freeing his eyesight.The dwarf stopped, squinting. “What is this? Some kind of trick?”Lan raised his hands. “Is there an answer that doesn’t get me an arrow in the chest?”~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~It seems the Herald of Andraste looks a lot like Fenris, down to the lyrium tattooed into his skin. The problem is that Alaslan Lavellan has no idea who Fenris is. His own memories start three years before the Conclave, in a Dalish clan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An answer to this pompt : https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/91204.html?thread=365100100
> 
> The prompt left the reason why the Inquisitor would look like Fenris open, so I rolled with it. I rolled with over 150.000 words worth of it -. Although Alaslan Lavellan has a lot of memory problems, so, that's going to be a tricky question to answer.  
> To write this story I had to go with headcanons a lot as the world of Dragon Age is pretty vague about how lyrium works exactly. I also had to add to Fenris' backstory, which is pretty easy since he has big gaps in his memory, and change a few things here and there, which would make this story an AU, I suppose.
> 
> I have finished writing the fic, and will post chapters as I finish editing them.

Hands grabbed him. Big hands, rough hands -human hands. Alaslan went limp in their grasp as a garbled mix of voices reached his buzzing ears. Heavy cuffs were slapped over his wrists. The cold metal on his skin felt like an electric shock.

What he could see between the wild strands of long white hair falling before his eyes was dark and blurred by a headache.

Slavers?

Just how unlucky could one elf get?

Two fair skinned women entered with anger in their steps. Lan shrunk back, pulling on tired muscles. A ghost of a cry rose in his throat as a burst of green light pushed out from under his skin and ripped through a cut in his palm.

Blood magic? He stared at his crackling hand. What was this for? What had he _done_?

The dark-haired woman advanced toward him. He let his hand fall and lowered his gaze.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Everyone, except for you.”

Lan blinked, trying to clear his vision, to hold on to his mind lest it shut down and left his body at the mercy of the woman before him. She was not a slaver, but then what…?

He wrestled with his mind, stopped his thoughts from trying to escape. The Conclave… Memories slammed back into his skull like a punch to the face. Right. Conclave. Keeper Isthimaethoriel had sent him to watch and report to her what happ--

His eyes widened. “Dead? Ev-everyone? The… The Divine?” His tongue was heavy with disuse and his throat burned.

“Divine Justinia is dead.”

Lan’s stomach dropped. That was not the story he’d expected to bring back to the Keeper. If he was ever allowed to leave.

“I’m sorry,” he said -then realized how that sounded. “I didn’t do it!”

“Explain this!”

She grabbed his hand. The energy trapped in it flared again, releasing a fresh burst of pain that had Lan bite down on his tongue.

“I don’t know what it is! I thought you put it there!”

“You’re lying!” She was on him, grabbing his shirt in her fists. Lan squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering in his chest.

The other woman stepped in before anything could happen. “We need him alive, Cassandra.”

With obvious reluctance, Cassandra let go of Lan’s shirt. He crumpled bonelessly at her feet. Creators… Lan was confused, and hurting, and this woman made no sense.

“What do you want from me?” he coughed out.

The red-haired woman approached. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Lan took a deep breath and tried to look for the threads of his scattered memories.

“I remember… running. And then there was a… a woman. She told me to escape.”

“A woman?”

“She reached out to me… there were -spiders and…” Then there was a big white flash in his memories and nothing else. “I-I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Is that your excuse? You don’t remember?”

“You’d be surprised,” Lan mumbled.

Cassandra’s dark eyes narrowed at him. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she ordered. “I will take him to the Breach.”

With a nod, Leliana swiftly exited, leaving Lan alone with a woman who hated him. He didn’t fight it when Cassandra dragged him to his feet, but his mouth wasn’t as submissive.

“Are you going to hit me again?”

“No.”

Oh. Well. He tried something else. “What’s happening?”

“It’ll be easier if I show you.”

He swayed as she undid his shackles. She replaced them with thick ropes that burned his wrists, and pushed him ahead of her. Outside, it was freezing. Lan blinked against the cold, the wind that threw his hair into his eyes, and the bright light. The bright… green… light.

The sky was torn open. He stared, mouth opened, until Cassandra forced him to walk ahead of her.

“What is your name?”

“Alaslan, of the Lavellans.”

“You are a Dalish mage. First of your clan?”

Lan didn’t answer. Cassandra took it to mean yes and quickly moved on. She explained the Breach, a tear in the Veil threatening to swallow the world. Her explanations overlapped with the deadly glares and the whispered insults of all the humans they walked past. Lan kept his eyes to the ground and his shoulders down, hands brought forward to show he was bound and harmless.

“They have decided your guilt,” said Cassandra, as if Lan hadn’t noticed. “They need it.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He had barely even used magic in years and they thought he was capable of tearing the sky apart?

“Right now, it does not matter. Someone has to be responsible, and someone has to be blamed. Most people here have decided you were both.”

Most. “You believe me?” asked Lan, not daring to hope. A single person on his side right now would be a good start, he supposed.

“I believe there is more to this than I first thought. Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Breach.”

“Can I object?”

“No.”

So Lan followed, acutely aware of the giant sword the woman was wielding like it weighed nothing.

The Breach was spewing out debris, shining with the same green light as his hand. He could feel pinpricks of electricity coursing through his entire left arm.

Lan had escaped a giant explosion by going physically into the Fade, then stumbled back out of it with a Mark on his hand that glowed and tortured him. And now he was being blamed for the end of the world and also forced to run toward it by an angry human.

Great.

Good point, she wasn’t a slaver -and seemed to be willing to listen to him, even if she didn’t like him. Bad point, everything else.

A big piece of debris landed just a few feet before him, pulverizing two soldiers in the blink of an eye. Lan stopped in shock. Another piece of the veil fell right in front of him, and the bridge under him buckled. He tried to run backward, stumbled into Cassandra as the stones under his feet crumbled and disappeared.

He landed on hard ice, his breath leaving him all at once. It took Lan a few seconds to find his mind again, and when his vision cleared, Cassandra was already on her feet and fighting… demons? Oh by the Creators, demons. And they were disgustingly ugly.

One of them took interest in Lan.

Shit.

Lan scrambled backward. The demon made a horrible raspy sound. It tried to take a swipe at him and Lan lifted his hands, throwing a barrier around himself. The demon bounced on it harmlessly, then plastered its ugly, _ugly_ face all over it, all rotting skin and deformed bones.

Cassandra finished off her prey and ran toward him. The demon shrieked around her blade.  Lan let his barrier pop and decided to help her out with a pathetic fireball to the demon’s disgusting face. To his surprise, it seemed enough to finish it and it died in a pile of ashes.

Cassandra whirled toward him, a deep frown on her face.

“I’m only help--” His sentence was cut off by Cassandra’s sword.

He immediately raised his hands, still bound, and lowered his gaze. Bitterness rumbled in his chest.

“If you want me dead, just do it already,” he managed to bite out while the cold steel of the blade glared at him. “It would be less confusing.”

Cassandra tensed, and Lan tried not to move. Well, he was going to get his wish.

“You are right.” Cassandra lowered the sword. “We should find you a staff.”

“Oh.” Wait, what? Lan looked up at her. “Really?”

She pulled his hands to her and slipped her sword under the rope. “Hurry.”

Rubbing his free wrists, he ran after her, dismissing the enticing thought of running away. Nothing here made sense, but this woman was his only anchor. He didn't even know where he was, where would he run?

They ran under the raging sky, followed by angry demons. Lan stuck to his tiny fireballs and stronger barriers, it had worked so far. He eventually plucked a staff out of the snow, careful not to touch any part of its previous owner and murmuring a quick apology.

Finally they ran into people who were alive, a nice change from all the corpses Lan had jumped over, though they were battling six demons at once. Hovering above them, another breach, smaller but just as disturbing.

Cassandra jumped in, dispatching the demons quite efficiently. Lan stayed behind, though he did cast a barrier over her just in case. She noticed, glancing at him very briefly before going back to business.

And suddenly, there was an elf by Lan’s side.

“Quickly!” The elf grabbed his hand and put it right against the breach. “Before more come through!”

The energy under Lan’s skin burst. It felt as if his hand had exploded, torn apart from the inside by this raw power that felt like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

Then the pain was gone, and so was the rift. The bald elf released Lan’s wrist.

“What... did you do?” asked Lan, cradling his hand, whole and spasming, against his chest.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

“Broody?” called the dwarf behind them.

Lan turned to the elf. “You mean that green thing on my hand closes those?”

“Broody? Is that you?”

The elf, however, was looking thoughtfully at the dwarf. So Lan turned around too, wondering what “broody” was supposed to be. The dwarf was staring at him in-between Lan’s wild strands of hair that the wind was whipping around his face.

“What… where’s Hawke?” The dwarf walked up to him, an angry look in his eyes. His giant crossbow did not look friendly.

“Who?” asked Lan, at the exact same time as Cassandra asked “ _That_ is the elf from Kirkwall?”

She had bared her blade once more, although she seemed to hesitate whether to use it on Lan or on the dwarf.

“What did I do, now?” asked Lan, genuinely curious.

“He said his name was Alaslan,” said Cassandra.

Nervous, Lan tucked some of his hair behind his ears, freeing his eyesight.

The dwarf stopped, squinting. “What is this? Some kind of trick?”

Lan raised his hands. “Is there an answer that doesn’t get me an arrow in the chest?”

There was slight silence, then the dwarf chuckled.

“Yeah. You’re definitely not him. This is the weirdest… what in Andraste’s name…”

“Varric!” snapped Cassandra. “Explain!”

“He looks like Fenris,” said Varric with a shrug. “I mean he really looks like him. But it’s not him…”

“Are you sure?”

“Too small, too thin, too pointy, and less tattooed.”

“He is branded,” intervened the elf. “Torso and arms.”

Lan blinked at the elf. How did he know?

Cassandra thrust her sword at him. “Roll up your sleeves.”

Reluctantly, Lan obeyed. He heard three distinct hisses as they looked at the markings marring his skin and he quickly pulled his sleeve back down.

“This is what you were talking about,” said Cassandra.

“Yeah but they’re not like Fenris’. Those aren’t as complete.” Varric looked at Lan. “Lyrium?”

Lan frowned. “No, thank you?” He knew the dwarves supposedly sold the stuff but now was really not the time.

Varric stared at him. “Your tattoos. They aren’t lyrium?”

“No? How could they be?”

The dwarf seemed dismayed. “I knew someone else who had similar markings. Are you sure you don’t know a Fenris?”

“Sorry.”

“You haven’t even read my book? Tale of the Champion? Pretty popular.”

“Not... a big reader.”

“If it’s all the same to everyone,” intervened the elf, “I’d suggest we get to the Breach and finish this discussion later.”

They dragged him along some more, Solas explaining to a very bemused Lan that his hand could close the Breach, until they met a very angry Chantry man who looked at Lan like he was fertilizer. Finally, a reaction he was familiar with.

Cassandra defended him, for reasons that Lan really couldn’t understand but he stayed carefully silent. Then they gave him the option to rush in with soldiers or take a more discreet route.

“The mountain,” he blurted out immediately. No way he was going to mingle with a hundred human soldiers scared out of their mind and all blaming him for the state of the sky.

He regretted it when it turned out they had to climb. He wasn’t made for this kind of exercise, and it was not helping his mood.

“Are you out of breath?” exclaimed the dwarf.

“What if I am.” Curt and unfriendly answers. Lan usually stuck to those, and people left him alone.

Not that dwarf, though. “I thought you elves liked exercise.”

“You’re thinking of hallas,” grumbled Lan.

Solas quietly chuckled behind him, before asking Varric if he needed help going over a particularly big rock. Lan really didn’t understand what was going on with these people.

There were more demons, because why not, and then…

“Well, shit,” said Varric. “We found our missing soldiers.”

Lan hugged himself against the cold. Cold of the air, cold of those dead soldiers’ eyes. He’d seen way too much of those in such a short amount of time.

They continued down some kind of tunnel. The walls were close and cold and dark. At some point, Varric had come to walk beside him.

“You all right?”

“No.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Not here.” He needed silence. Too many people had talked to him in too little time, his skin buzzed with discomfort and every new word felt like barbed wire sticking into his flesh.

“Have you ever met another elf with tattoos like those? Actually, ever met another elf who looks like you?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Where did you get those markings?”

“Where did you get your chest hair?”

Varric let out a laugh and Lan actually stopped in his tracks in surprise.

“I like you,” said Varric as an explanation.

“You do?”

The Mark flared all of a sudden, and to Lan’s complete and utter bewilderment, his tattoos echoed in pain. He managed to swallow a cry but the pain didn’t abate, and soon each new movement made his whole body protest.

Varric somehow noticed. Lan felt the dwarf’s hand in the small of his back. He bristled, but… it wasn’t touching his tattoos. It was fine. Lan was shivering, and convinced himself it was from the cold. The warm hand helped, and pushed him a little whenever he stumbled.

Varric only stepped away from him when they reached the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Lan faltered when he saw the charred corpses twisted in horrible pauses but Cassandra forced him forward. The air smelled of burned flesh and charred wood, ash was being flown into his eyes and hair by the wind, and Lan tried very hard not to think that those could be bits of burned people.

The Mark spluttered, spewing out some more of that green energy. Lan’s tattoos groaned. A voice, deep and otherworldly, rose around them.

‘Bring forth the sacrifice’.

Lan slowed. “Am I the sacrifice?” he asked no one in particular.

“Those are echoes” answered Solas by his side. “The Fade must have preserved them.”

“So this is the voice of the shithead who blew the world up,” said Varric. “Doesn’t sound like our elf.”

They walked down busted stairs. Something red and glowing attracted Lan’s attention, drawing his gaze like a beacon shining directly into his mind.

“Red lyrium,” said Varric in disbelief.

Lan stared. What in the world…?

Varric’s hand shot out and grabbed him. “Do not touch it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” protested Lan.

It made him uncomfortable just looking at it. Something deeply wrong emanated from it, some sort of song that echoed deep in his mind and scratched at his thoughts as if trying to get in. Lan gave it a wide, very wide berth, almost falling off the side of their precarious path. He thought he felt a pull from his tattoos as he passed the crystal and his stomach clenched in revulsion.

Leliana appeared, followed by soldiers who all looked up at the Breach with wide eyes. They thought they were going to die, Lan could see it plainly in the fear etched on their faces. Fear of death and fear of the unknown, of not going home that night.

While Leliana talked with Cassandra, Lan stared at the raging storm of green energy above their head. His hand pulsed, though not to the same rhythm as his heart. It had a heart of its own beating in the middle of his palm.

“This is your chance to end this,” said Cassandra. “Are you ready?”

No, thought Lan. But the soldiers behind him had homes and families, and they were hoping against all hope that his tiny self would be enough to save them from certain death. Lan had nothing and no one. His life was the least he could give.

He nodded, numb, and walked under the tear in the sky.

 

* * *

 

Lan awoke to another headache and his body feeling like he’d fought a dragon with his fists.

He opened his eyes, and immediately closed them again as he remember he had actually fought a demon with his glowy hand. A… Pride Demon, was that what Cassandra had yelled?

A door whined open. He sat up and looked around, at the unfamiliar wooden walls around him.

An elven girl entered, and for the tiniest second, he thought he was back with the Clan. But she had no vallaslin, and as soon as she saw him she jumped in fright.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

“It’s... fine,” said Lan, puzzled.

“Forgive me, my Lord!” She crumpled to the floor. “I am but a humble servant!”

“What?” Lan scrambled out of the bed and fell on his face in his haste to get to the girl. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

She flinched, but looked up at him in surprise. Lan took a calming breath.

“Don’t- don’t do that… please?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Lan. I’m Lan. Sort of. Huh… where… am I?”

“You’re in Haven, my Lord. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing. It’s all everyone’s been talking about the last three days!”

“Three days?”

The Breach stopped growing? Lan had actually done it? He looked down at his hand. The Mark was still there. It was a lot calmer, almost purring under his skin.

“Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve awaken. She said ‘at once’!”

Lan felt his heartbeat settle slightly. Cassandra was a known face. An angry face, but a known one nonetheless.

“Where is she?”

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. At once, she said!”

And the girl was back on her feet and running out. Lan stayed on the floor a moment, gathering his wits as he quickly braided his hair. When he walked out, the cold hit him in the face. And Varric’s head hit him in the chest.

“Sorry, Pointy. I saw that elven girl run out, I was coming to see what scared her. Apparently, you did.”

“I didn’t do anyth-- Pointy?”

“You’re a very pointy elf. Glad to see you’re awake!”

“Yes...” said Lan slowly, feeling less glad. At least the dwarf looked in one piece. “She said I stopped the Breach...”

“Oh…” Varric cleared his throat. “Well. Cassandra or Solas can probably tell you more about that than me. But come on.”

Varric led him around the house, to a spot where they could clearly see the mountain where the Breach had been.

And still was. Just as big as before.

“Nothing’s changed! Varric!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault! From what I understand, you didn’t close it but you stabilized it. It’s no longer growing or throwing demons at us like it’s a sport. So that’s a victory, right?”

Lan could only stare at it. The Mark was still dormant.

“All that, and I can’t even close it?”

“Pointy, you might not have saved the world entirely, but you saved it partially. It’s still better than anything anyone else has done. Well done you.” Varric patted him gently on the arm.

The contact made Lan’s tattoos flare in pain. He flinched away with a hiss.

Varric startled. “Are you still hurt? Are you all right?”

The naked concern in the dwarf’s voice was unexpected. Lan couldn’t think of anything but to apologize for putting it here.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from…”

His tattoos had never hurt before the Mark, and then they’d only hurt when the Mark had. Now the Mark was silent but his tattoos still reacted? Something was wrong with him. Maybe he could ask that Solas about it? He seemed knowledgeable. Would he be the kind of person to help without asking for something in exchange? Lan had nothing to give.

Varric studied him for a moment. “If you’re really up to it, the Seeker’ll be wanting to see you.”

“Yeah.”

Lan didn’t move. The wind kept throwing his hair into his eyes.

Varric nudged him. “Are you going?”

“Huh huh.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Yes please.”

Varric snorted. “The Seeker’s scary, huh.”

“She is going to kill me. You might be the only person here who’ll defend me. I mean, will you… defend me?”

“Pointy… just, come with me.”

Lan followed the dwarf into the village. They walked past a small group of humans, who caught sight of Lan and immediately pointed at him. Lan cringed, ready for the insults, but none came. Instead, he only heard whispered adoration.

He was a hero. Had saved Ferelden -if not Thedas. The only person who had stabilized the Breach, stopped the death toll from climbing even higher.

“The Herald.”

“The Herald of Andraste!”

Lan stumbled. Varric quietly urged him to keep walking. More people gathered, coming out of the woodwork just to take a look at him, at their savior.

The Herald of Andraste.

“Varric,” he whispered. “Varric, I think the world’s gone mad.”

“Has it ever been sane? Come on.”

Another servant fell to his knees as they walked past. Lan immediately put him back on his feet, feeling completely ridiculous as the other elf stared at him with something akin to awe.

When the heavy door closed behind him, he let out a breath. That was more attention in ten minutes than he’d ever had in his remembered lifetime.  

“That was… the weirdest thing.”

“Day’s not over yet.”

As they approached another set of big doors, angry voices filtered through.

“Have you gone completely mad? He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!”

“I do not believe he is guilty,” said Cassandra’s voice.

Lan’s jaw hit the floor.

“The elf failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all we know, he intended it that way.”

Varric opened the doors without knocking. Chancellor Roderick turned to Lan immediately.

“Chain him and have him prepared for trial!” he ordered the two soldiers on either side of the door.

“Disregard this and leave us,” ordered Cassandra.

The soldiers listened to her without a second thought. Lan took a step closer to Cassandra. She clearly outranked anyone in the Chantry, which was scary, and right now, Lan’s only chance of not being hanged.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

She looked at him and Lan felt his ears grow hot. “I don’t know why it didn’t close. I don’t know how it works! I don’t even know why I’m still alive.”

Roderick snorted. “A convenient result insofar as you’re concerned.”

“Tell me Chancellor,” called Varric, “are you always an ass or is it just a special occasion?”

Everyone turned to him, as if only realizing he was there.

“Who is _that_?” asked the Chancellor.

“Nobody important,” said Cassandra. “This conversation is over, Chancellor. Master Lavellan was sent to us by the Maker to help us in our darkest hour--”

“You too?” squawked Lan despite himself. “Why do you all think that? I’m an elf!”

“I have noticed,” said Cassandra crisply. “No matter who we are, we are subjected to the Maker’s will.”

“Yes… but I don’t think I am.”

The Chancellor gave a mean laugh. “That is your Herald? What do you intend to do with this bumbling idiot? This is how you expect to defy the Chantry?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes dangerously. She turned around and grabbed a thick book from the shelf behind her.

She plopped it on the table. “Do you recognize this, Chancellor?”

And then, if that was possible, Lan’s life became more difficult.

* * *

 Lan’s whole body ached. Except for the Mark, which felt tingly and kind of warm, not entirely unpleasant. His tattoos, however, had only become more painful as the day dragged on and he was paraded around as the Herald.

He stumbled into the house they’d given him and fell face-first into the bed. His hastily-made braid had been steadily getting worse throughout the day and his hair fanned around his head, heavy and dirty. He needed a bath.

He heard a snort.

“Graceful.”

He groaned. “Varric.”

“Word of advice : don’t let your door wide open as long as there are people who want to kill you for being a false prophet. Not a good idea. Lock the damn thing.”

The dwarf hadn’t left his side all day long, for reasons unknown to Lan. He heard Varric walk up to the bed, and when the silence stretched into awkward territory, Lan turned his head to look at him.

“Can I help you?”

“I think you’ve done enough helping for the day.”

“I haven’t helped anyone. I just followed Cassandra around.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been spat out of the Fade and landed on a Pride Demon.”

“You do understand what you agreed to today, right?”

Lan frowned and pushed himself to his elbows.

“Err... No. Not really. I barely know what the Inquisition is supposed to be.”

“Then why did you agree?”

“One, because I’m pretty sure Cassandra would have killed me otherwise. And two, because… I don’t know.” Lan sighed and brushed his fingers through his dirty hair. “Looks like I’m the only one able to do anything about this Breach. I can’t just… turn my back on it. Can’t return to my clan with one hand glowing green and pretend none of this happened.”

“You clan?” repeated Varric, eyes shining.

“Yes. You know. Dalish and everything.” The words came out smoother than they felt in Lan’s mouth.

“Were you born in that clan?”

Lan stilled. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”

“Not presently.”

“Why?” asked Lan in disbelief. “Why do you follow me around? What do you want from me? I don’t understand, Varric.”

Varric stared at him, mouth pulled to the side.

“Never mind. I’ll let you sleep, Pointy.”

Lan didn’t answer. He waited until he heard the door close to curl up under the sheet, hiding himself from head to toe.

* * *

Lan was staring at the ceiling, wide awake, when dawn chased away the night. He hurt everywhere and was wondering if he could stay in bed all day.

The soldier pounding loudly on his door made him understand it wasn’t an option. Lan dragged his weary body out of bed and toward a bassine of freezing water, doing what he could to keep himself at least sort of clean. 

The clothes they’d given him were too tight, too white, too eye-grabbing, but at least the sleeves were long and it covered enough of his neck to hide all the tattoos. He didn’t bother with his hair, hiding three quarters of his face behind the unkempt curtain.

He met Cassandra in front of the Chantry. She saluted him with a nod, he tried to answer in kind but the gesture felt too foreign and he ended up doing some sort of failed bow. She had the decency to ignore it. 

The Mark flared a bit as they walked in.

“Does it trouble you?” she asked.

“Not really. It just… tickles.”

“Tickles.”

“Yes.... What? It’s not my fault.”

“At least it doesn’t hurt. Small mercies.”

They entered through the big doors again. Leliana was there, as well as Varric and Solas, and two new people. One of them was a beautiful woman dressed in gold and blue, and the other a gruff-looking man with an impressive scar. The woman nodded politely. The man froze.

“You…!”

“Nope,” said Varric. “Pointy, just show your damn face and stand straighter.”

Lan winced but obeyed, tucking his hair behind his ears. “He knows this Felis?”

“Fenris,” corrected Varric. “Yeah. They know each other.”

“Herald,” Cassandra cut in, “I present you Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

The Commander was still staring. Lan felt deeply awkward now, and sort of… waved at him. It seemed to snap the Commander out of his reverie.

“I… I apologize.”

Lan shrugged, avoiding his eyes.

“This is Ambassador Josephine Montilyet,” Cassandra went on.

“Andaran Atishan.”

Lan startled as if slapped. “Uh… hello.”

“And you’ve met Sister Leliana, our spymaster.”

“Tactfully put, Cassandra,” said Leliana lightly.

This was all terribly official. Lan cleared his throat. “This is the kind of organization that needs a spymaster.”

“The Inquisition raises a lot of eyebrows,” said Leliana, as if that explained everything.

“And you have met Varric and Solas.”

“Why am I here?” asked Varric.

“I wish to discuss this apparent resemblance to Fenris.”

Lan physically cringed. “Why… are you all acting like it’s my fault I look like someone?”

Solas walked to him and silently asked for his hand, which Lan passively gave.

“You don’t just look like him, Pointy,” said Varric as Solas’ fingers tickled Lan’s palm. “You’re nearly his twin. Exact same eyes, similar voice, pointier on the whole but you’re the same shape. You’re just missing some height and muscles, and some tattoos.”

“What… does Fenris also have tattoos?”

“Lyrium branded into his skin.”

“How can anyone have lyrium tattoos?”

“You do,” said Solas calmly.

Lan looked at him. “What?”

“The marks on your body are infused with lyrium. Quite a lot of it.”

Lan snatched his hand out of Solas’ grasp and brought his arms against his chest.

“That’s not possible.”

“I have seen your markings while you were unconscious,” said Solas. “I did not have much time to study them, I was more preoccupied with stopping the Mark from killing you. But the presence of lyrium is hard to ignore. If you are willing, I could take a closer look-”

“No!” Lan hunched over himself, backing away and out of reach of everyone.

To his bewilderment, Solas accepted his answer with a gracious nod and stepped respectfully back.

“Commander,” continued Cassandra, “can you really confirm what Varric is saying?”

Lan turned his eyes to the Commander, who had gotten over his shock and was now appraising him carefully.

“Yes. Our Herald is absolutely a smaller Fenris.”

“A brother?” asked Cassandra, looking at Varric who shrugged.

“I guess it’s not impossible, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t have a brother,” said Lan quietly.

“Varric, you said you didn’t know where Fenris was.”

“I don’t, but that’s not him.”

“Someone might have tried to replicate his appearance,” said Leliana.

“What?” spluttered Lan.

“Fenris’ story is well known. Looking like him might open some doors, depending on what you are targeting. Blood magic could allow it--”

Lan almost choked. “No! I am not Fenris, I don’t want to be Fenris! I have no idea who that dwarf or that human is, I’ve never even met a dwarf before Varric, I’ve never met a Fenris and I don’t care who has tattoos or not, I am me! Just me! No blood magic! No nothing!”

“Hey. Hey, Pointy! Calm down. Look at me.”

Lan’s eyes lowered to meet Varric’s. When had the dwarf moved over?

Lan swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I don’t do blood magic, Varric! I don’t do it, I never touched it, I don’t--”

The Spymaster lifted a hand to stop him. “I did not mean to upset you, but we have to think about every possibility.”

Varric’s hand was on his lower back again. Lan forced himself to focus on the touch and get his breathing under control. He could feel his heart beating in his chest and the Mark on his hand had turned from tickling to stinging.

Solas had stepped closer once more, one of his hands glowed pale blue as he waved it around Lan. Lan wanted to swat it away like an annoying mosquito.

“You need to calm down,” said Varric.

“I’m fine,” assured Lan in a thin voice.

“Right. So the sweating and trembling, that’s just fashion?”

Lan let out a shaky breath. “You’re a very persistent dwarf.”

“If I can intervene,” said Solas, retracting his hand, “apart from the Mark, I cannot sense any magic on our friend.”

“Not even his tattoos?” asked Varric, raising an eyebrow.

“There is magic in them, but it is locked in and I cannot access it unless I try. The magic needed to construct a new body or transform an old one, however, would leave behind a scar that couldn’t be concealed. Our Herald is a simple elf, and his body is his own.”

“I’m a simple elf,” repeated Lan. In Solas’ mouth, such reassuring words sounded a little like an insult.

“I believe you,” said Cassandra, and Lan felt the vice of fear around his heart loosen. He really liked it when Cassandra believed him. “I apologize for causing you distress, Herald.”

Lan stared at her, not knowing how to answer that.

“How come you do not know about the lyrium?” asked Leliana.

“... I wasn’t told.”

“Who gave them to you?”

“I wasn’t told.”

Varric raised his eyebrows at him. “What’s that mean?”

Lan’s eyes went to the door. He could try to make a run for it… then he remembered the two armored guards on either side of the door and deflated. These people had him and weren’t about to release him. There was nothing for it but to cooperate.

“I don’t remember anything. All I know is a band of Tal-Vashoths gave me to a Dalish clan about three years ago.”

“What?” said Varric. “How does that even follow?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything until I woke up with the Dalish. I don’t know why I was with Tal Vashoths. I don’t even remember my name, the elves named me Alaslan.”

“An interesting name,” said Solas quietly. Lan winced, but nobody else paid him any attention.

“Pointy,” said Varric slowly, carefully. “That Fenris I spoke about… he was a slave. The marks in his skin were put there by his former Master.”

“I know,” said Lan, lowering his head. “I don’t remember it, but the Dalish guessed. I wasn’t in the best condition when they got me, the Tal Vashoths swore they weren’t responsible and they found me somewhere between Tevinter and the Free Marches. I must have escaped or… I don’t know. It’s weird.”

“Out of everything you’ve just said?” said Varric. “Not the weirdest.”

“Apparently I… I got a little violent the first time someone tried to inspect my tattoos, so they stopped trying. They told me those were slaves’ markings, something masters do to embellish their possession. Nobody ever said anything about lyrium.” He rubbed his arms nervously. “Well, there. That’s my story. Or lack of it.”

Silence followed his words. Leliana and Solas, at least, looked merely thoughtful. The rest of them didn’t seem to know what to make of anything Lan had just told them.

Lan felt his ears twitch and heat up under the weight of their combined stares. “So… that’s it? You accuse me of blood magic and interrogate me and then… stare at me?”

Cassandra shook herself out of her stupor. “As puzzling as your story is, we cannot do anything about it now…” She looked at Leliana, who nodded. She was going to investigate, then. Well, she could have fun. Lan had told the truth.

“We wanted to ask you something else,” Cassandra continued. “Whatever the circumstances that brought you here, now that you are a part of this Inquisition we wanted to discuss our next move with you.”

Lan almost asked why, but he realized that would not go over well. Crap. He just wanted to hide somewhere, alone.

He didn’t mean to, but he ended up listening carefully as they argued about whether to go talk to the mages or templars first. Lan knew which ones he wanted to contact, but he also knew he was not going to be asked. He was getting the idea that Cassandra wanted him here so he could look Herald-y in the corner while she went down to business.

“I was a templar,” declared Cullen. “I know what they’re capable of.”

“You were?” Lan surprised himself as the words left his mouth.

Cullen looked at Lan. “Yes.”

“Oh. I never met one of you. Why are you… here?”

“Sorry?”

“I just mean- here instead of-…” Lan trailed off, unsure how to word ‘instead of killing mages’.

The Commander seemed to understand what he’d meant, however, and stared icily at him.

“Some of us have held on to their conscience.”

Lan quickly looked elsewhere and didn’t interrupt again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study in lyrium.

Camping.

Lan glared at the pile of cloth and poles that was supposed to be a tent.

Camping, huh.

“Got a problem with your tent?” asked Varric, coming over.

“No.” Lan kicked one of the poles. “I like it like that.”

“Isn’t that what you Dalish do? Camping?”

“They have aravels, not… that.”

“You know, I had no idea what to do with it at first too. Until one day Hawke suddenly decided to take me with her on a trip to the Wounded Coast… ever been?”

“No.”

“Lucky you, it’s horrible. ‘Rains constantly and there’s sand everywhere.”

“Ugh… I hate the outdoors.”

Varric grinned. “An elf who hates nature? Wonders never cease. You’d break Merrill’s heart. Give me that…”

In Varric’s capable hands, it only took a few minutes for Lan’s tent to be standing as proudly as all the others.

“Sorry.,” said Lan with a wince once it was done. “Thank you. You’re good at this.”

“Like I said, Hawke took me everywhere. I had to learn how to build a tent or sleep in the rain because nobody else was going to share.”

“You keep mentioning Hawke like I should know who you’re talking about.”

“The Champion of Kirkwall?”

“Ah. Yes. Her I know.”

“Most people do know her name,” said Varric. “Even among the Dalish. And maybe… Maker’s balls, you look so much like him, I just assume you know them all like he does.”

Lan felt himself tense. Two weeks since the Inquisition had been implemented, and every other day Lan had to be reminded that he was not himself. He was either a Herald, as this particular madness still hadn’t died out, or he was a Fenris double. He might have forgotten who he was, but he knew he wasn’t either of those.

Varric must have sensed his discomfort. “Didn’t mean to bring it up again. You’re gonna have to get used to it until I can train myself to see Alaslan instead of Fenris every time my eyes fall on you.”

In the light of the campfire, Lan thought Varric looked sad. Just sad.

“Do you know how the war between the mages and templars started? What happened in Kirkwall?” asked Varric. “You were sent to the Conclave by your Keeper, right? You must know the basics.”

“I know some of it,” said Lan. “A mage blew up the Chantry, templars started killing mages without asking first, the Divine didn’t do anything, and then the madness spread.”

Varric smiled, even if the sadness stayed. “You got most of it. Here.” From his bag Varric pulled a book.

“What’s this?”

“A book, your Heraldness. Tale of the Champion, written by your humble servant,” said Varric with a bow. “I thought you’d like some light reading. Some parts might be a little bit… invented... but it’ll help you understand some things.”

He walked off, back to the big campfire where soldiers mingled and laughed. Cassandra had gone with a couple of scouts to secure their surroundings, and Solas was in his tent already. Lan decided to do the same. He wasn’t hungry and had mud to pick out of his hair and a book to stare at.

Morning eventually came. Lan had not slept a wink.

He’d started the book, intrigued. He read excruciatingly slowly, stopping on almost every word as he tried to understand how to read them, or flat-out giving up on a lot of them. Whole pages remained a mystery to him.

Then Fenris had appeared. Varric described the tattoos quite clearly, the white hair, the green eyes, the straight nose, and Lan had felt his mouth go dry. He had slammed the book shut and thrown it across his tent. He’d curled up under his blanket and stared at the candle by his side until it burned out.

“Herald?” called Cassandra’s voice on the other side of the tent. “Are you awake?”

Lan croaked something vaguely affirmative.

Varric pounced on him as soon as he was out. “Well, you’ve looked better. Did you read all night?”

Lan didn’t answer. He stared at his tent a moment, before taking his staff and hitting one of the poles as hard as he could. The tent crumbled in a pile of cloth and sticks.

“All right... Your terrifying mood is noted,” said Varric. “Would the book have anything to do with why you’re beating up Inquisition property into submission?”

“No.”

Varric studied him for a moment. “You’re rattled.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it Fenris?”

“Varric...”

“I am trying to help, Pointy. It’s not good to keep everything bottled up. Sharing’s caring and everything.”

“Then I don’t care.”

“Look at you, brooding. You sound just like him when you’re angry.”

“Please, Varric. Please stop.”

“All right. Just so you know : keep all your feelings to yourself like that and one day you’re going to blow up a Chantry. I’ll say I told you so then, if you’re still alive to hear it.”

Varric left him to go talk with Solas instead. He had no other company than his swirling thoughts until they met a rift and he had to wave his hand at demons like an idiot.

He’d received a few lessons on demon types and how to kill them. Lan rarely put them into practice -he’d rather stay out of the fight until he saw a path to run at the rift and close it. The only magical abilities he had any confidence in were his protective barriers and a few dispelling tricks ; he’d sooner turn into Andraste than be able to kill a demon by himself.

That, and the staff he was using was the one he’d stolen from a frozen corpse. Every time he touched it Lan felt only disgust.

He just had to close the rifts. That was his one and only job.

* * *

 Mother Giselle was a good person. Lan was ready to hug anyone who looked like they weren’t going to murder him at the first chance they got. Those were hard to find.

They spent a little time in the refugee camp. The first time someone approached him unprompted Lan actually jumped away in fright and Varric had to step in and ask them what they wanted.

“Why are they asking me for help?” he wondered out loud once he’d promised the elven man to bring back a potion for his wife’s declining health.

“Because you have a fancy mark on your hand,” said Varric, “and are part of an organisation that promised to help them.”

Lan pondered this for a minute. “I’ve never helped anyone in my life.”

“What a very odd thing to say,” mused Varric.

Cassandra was off talking to a merchant, Solas was… somewhere, who knew. Lan had nothing to do right about now. So he walked toward the elven man’s house.

“Hey!” Varric jogged to catch up behind him. “Where are you going?”

“To help.”

He knocked on the door, trying to ignore the way his arm shook as he lifted it. The man opened his door, and his eyes widened.

“Ser? Do you have news?”

“No. No, sorry, not yet. I promise I will, but in the meantime -would you allow me to take a look at your wife’s illness?”

“Are you a healer?”

“I am not, no. Sorry. But I know a little bit of healing magic. I simply want to see if I recognize the illness. Maybe I can help your wife a little, to wait until I find your son.”

The elf was desperate enough to allow it. Lan slipped inside, Varric on his heels.

“You know healing magic?”

“The tiniest bit.”

She lay gasping in her bed, fighting for breaths. He had to try. He crouched next to the bed, put both hands on the woman’s chest, and closed his eyes.

The Keeper had tried to teach him that spell after a lung illness had swept through the Clan. They’d needed every magic user to help, but of course Lan had never managed to do anything good with it...

He fumbled through the barely-remembered spell, clumsily going through the steps to call forth healing energies, but when he was finished the woman looked a little bit better. Her husband fell to his knees in front of Lan, who immediately brought him back to his feet and did his best to stop the flow of gratitude spilling from his lips.

Cassandra caught them as they walked out.

“I was looking for you. What were you doing in here?”

“Helping, apparently,” said Varric. Lan felt a smile stretch his lips.

As they left the refugee camp and ventured further into the wilderness, however, his mood dropped significantly.

Templars and mages started to appear, groups of stragglers pilfering dead bodies like scavenging dogs. Lan stayed out of the fights, casting his barriers from a distance. Until a templar appeared out of nowhere and slammed into him.

Lan’s lungs shrivelled as the world closed around him. Between two breaths the Fade was ripped out of every part of his body, save for his left hand. The Mark screamed and snarled and fought, refusing to disappear.

He must have blacked out for a moment. When he next blinked, Varric, Solas and Cassandra were looking down at him with various worried expressions.

“What… what happened?”

“You were silenced,” said Solas. “A templar caught you by surprise.”

“You cannot simply look on while a fight is going on,” admonished Cassandra. “They will come for you if they see you alone.”

“Is that reaction normal?” asked Varric. “I’ve seen plenty of mages get silenced before, no one kissed the floor like that.”

“It interfered with the Mark,” said Solas. “Was it your first time?”

“I… think so,” mumbled Lan.

Varric offered him a hand. The dwarf helped him sit up and Solas gave him a canteen of fresh water.

“It’s never pleasant, even less so for someone experiencing for the first time. That and the Mark’s reaction to an attempt at dispelling it, it overloaded your body.”

“...Great.”

“You need to fight with us next time,” said Cassandra sternly. “I know you can fight, I have seen you.”

“I threw a fireball at a demon _once_. I’m not killing people!”

“They are trying to kill you.”

“I know! I know. It’s just… not… great.”

“No,” said Cassandra. “Nothing about this is ‘great’. But it is what you have to do.”

They gave him a moment to gather himself, and then they went on, because the Inquisition was bigger than him and couldn’t wait for his little problems.

When they stopped for the night, they were closing in on a templar stronghold and Lan was jittery with nerves. Cassandra sat alone, a little apart from everyone else. Lan approached, careful to make noise so she would know of his presence. He stood awkwardly next to her, wondering how to start this conversation, letting his eyes wander to the sky.

“High Dragon,” he said to himself.

“Do you see one anywhere?”

Lan startled and looked at Cassandra. “What? No. What?”

“Why are you talking about high dragons?”

“Oh, no, sorry.” Lan pointed up. “The constellation just above our heads. It’s the High Dragon.”

Cassandra looked up at the starry night. Her eyes swam around without finding their mark. “You know constellations?”

Lan shrugged. “One thing I know.” He rubbed a nervous hand up and down his arm. “So, um. You’re like a templar.”

“I am a seeker,” she corrected stiffly. “We share some abilities but we are not the same.”

“… I’ve seen you smite the mages here. I know templars take lyrium so they can do all that. Why can’t I do it, if I’m full of lyrium?”

“I do not know,” she admitted. “But the ability to smite is not always linked to lyrium. Seekers don’t take any. Our capacities come from years of intense training and discipline.”

“Really?” Lan frowned. “So can I learn how to smite anyway?”

“Why would you want to?” asked Cassandra with a frown.

“The mages… I could stop them if I knew how.”

“I have watched you during fights -or at least the ones you cannot avoid. You favor barriers, walls and dispelling abilities.”

“It works.”

“It’s dangerous,” said Cassandra shortly. “You will have to fight whether you like it or not, Herald.”

“I can defend myself. I can protect you from afar. Barriers are useful!”

“This is not about defending and protecting. It’s about going on the offensive, even if the other party has not attacked you yet.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because this is a war, and wars are not pretty or easy. They’re bloody. They ask for death.”

Lan groaned. “I don’t.”

“This is bigger than you,” said Cassandra tersely.

“Everything’s bigger than me! Including someone who apparently looks like me, but bigger.”

A strange sound came out of Cassandra. It took Lan a moment to realize it had been a small laugh.

“I cannot teach you to smite. It would take time we do not have. If you want to protect yourself against powerful mages, I suggest you hit them before they hit you.”

Lan grumbled. “Sorry but I don’t like fighting. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You are exactly where the Maker judged you would be useful.”

Lan sighed and turned around, but Cassandra called him back.

“Where is this dragon, exactly?”

* * *

 Lan had never thought he’d ever be happy to see snow, but finally coming back to Haven was a blessing. He didn’t make his bed wait for him. He fell into it and did his best to become one with the mattress.

The following days went by in a blur. He was called into the War Room several times (why?), was given stacks of papers that he never read (he didn’t even know where to start), and had to hear the advisors argue between them while ignoring him (whenever Cullen and Josephine argued -so every ten minutes, Leliana would meet his eyes over the table and make a face).

To complicate things, people were now coming to Haven specifically to meet him. He burned to tell them all he wasn’t anyone’s Herald -Andraste could certainly do better, but they all looked at him with so much awe and hope that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He mostly nodded at whatever they said, it seemed to be enough.

Many of these new arrivals were Fereldan -which meant dogs. Great big Mabaris prancing around town. Lan sometimes had to take horrendously complicated paths through Haven just to avoid them. Someone at the blacksmith’s had a Mabari, which made Lan’s life just that much more complicated. He did manage to make himself a new staff, in the end, but now the resident dog there knew him and wagged its tail every time it saw Lan from afar.

The book was on his nightstand and he hadn’t opened it again. He knew how the story ended anyway. He’d known most of it, but now things made slightly more sense.

Except for Fenris’ existence. There was no avoiding it, Varric’s description made it clear that the elf looked almost exactly like Lan. Lan’s hair was longer and shaggier from years of neglect, and he seemed to be shorter and thinner. But they were the same. Down to the bloody lyrium brands.

He spent his nights looking at those under the light of the candle. In the book, Varric described Fenris’ markings as being full, white lines that covered his whole body and drew swirls and waves on his skin. Lan’s own markings were grey at best, faded in several places, and barely better than squiggly lines. There were also definite gaps in their hesitant pattern, and various scars cut through them. They stopped halfway down his waist and down his forearms, and up at the base of his neck. Nothing about this was elegant. Once, just to see, he’d tried lighting them up like Fenris did in the book. Of course, nothing had happened. They were as inert as Lan ever remembered them being.

On one of his many walks to the War Room, raised voices from the Ambassador’s room made him stop. Was someone shouting at Josephine? He couldn’t imagine having the heart to do that.

Could he risk going in? ...he might as well try to use his ill-earned reputation for something, right? He knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Ambassador? Oh, hello,” he greeted the man standing there. Wearing a mask. Lan stared.

“Master Lavellan,” said Josephine, “this is the Marquis DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

The noble stood a little straighter. “I was simply informing Lady Montilyet that I would like my property back into my care.”

“Your property?” asked Lan, startling out of his stunned surprise. _Why the mask?!_

“House DuRellion owns Haven. We lend these lands to Divine Justinia as a place of pilgrimage. The Inquisition is not beneficiary of this arrangement. Yet people keep pouring in!”

“There are refugees here, wounded people,” said Lan with a frown. “They need this place.”

“And who benefits if they stay?”

“Who benef-- they have nowhere else to go!”

Josephine took a step forward. “Divine Justinia herself authorized our presence here. The Inquisition, not the Chantry, is sheltering the pilgrims who mourn her.”

“And why doesn’t the Chantry help the faithful?”

“Because it remains in shock!”

The Marquis deflated. Lan met his gaze through his ridiculous mask, and found it pretty easy to hold it.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace,” continued Josephine. “Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

Lan frowned. Was that directed at him? That had been directed at him. Well. She wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet,” declared the Marquis, defeated. “The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.”

He walked out, with barely a glance to spare Lan.

“Tel’athim,” grumbled Lan, staring after the man. “Can he really kick us out?”

“His grace’s position is not as strong as he presents it. As he is Orlesian, Empress Celene must negotiate with Ferelden on his behalf. Her current concerns are… a bit larger than minor property dispute.”

Lan blinked at her. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

She gestured to a seat. Lan took it, nervous.

“He is the first of many dignitaries who have taken notice of us. We are expecting more visitors quite soon.”

“Okay… well, um. You obviously know how to handle these people. I barely know how to talk to humans.”

She gave him an indulgent smile. “Yes. It is no fault of yours, many people find the nobility hard to suffer -even the nobility itself. However, as we are starting to make some considerable noise, more and more influential people will ask to speak with you.”

“Why? Oh, right.” Lan closed his left fist. “They want to see the Mark.”

“And the Herald,” added Josephine. “If you allow me, your Grace, I could give you a few lessons to bring you up to date on both Orlesian and Fereldan affairs and laws -and take care of a few things that many dignitaries would find offensive.”

Lan tilted his head to the side. He was pretty sure himself, as a whole, was offensive to a lot of people, nobility or not.

“Can you even do that? Make me presentable?”

“You are not a lost cause, your Worship,” assured Josephine. “A haircut would be a first step.”

Lan shrugged. “I guess I really don’t know enough about… politics. If I can’t avoid these people…”

“I will do my best to be present whenever I can, but I won’t always be here.”

“I know, I understand.” Lan idly tapped his fingers against the Mark’s scar. “You’d be my tutor, then?”

“I suppose so.”

Lan smiled a little. He liked Josephine. She was the one among the advisors who seemed to enjoy talking to him… Lan realized that was probably her Ambassador training, but it was still nice.

“Oh, before I forget…” Josephine opened a drawer and pulled out a small pouch, which she held out toward Lan. He took it, confused to feel coins inside.

“What’s this?”

“Your pay. It’s not much at all, more symbolic than anything. The Inquisition is a long way from being able to pay anyone what they deserve… but I have managed to set apart enough resources to pay at least our most permanent members. Are you all right?”

Lan realized his mouth was hanging open. He quickly closed it, and started to nod, before stopping himself.

“Why… why?”

“Why?” repeated Josephine, startled. “Because you are working for us.”

“But I don’t need- I don’t know… huh.”

“Have you never been paid before?”

He shook his head.

“Well…” said Josephine. “I’m sure you will figure out what to do with it quite soon. We do have a few merchants around town, they would welcome your business.” She smiled. “For now, however, I do believe Cassandra is waiting for us in the War Room.”

When wasn’t she. Lan pocketed the pouch carefully, patted it to make sure it was secure, and followed Josephine.

* * *

 Val Royeaux had been a disaster.

Lan could have told them so before going and saved everyone a lot of trouble, if only they’d asked him. Talk to a Chantry Mother while she held an anti-Alaslan meeting in the town square? What a brilliant idea, Cassandra. Let’s go! Let’s meet the Templars and confirm they’re all completely insane! Let’s parade your heretic Herald!

As if the Mother hadn’t been enough, the Lord Seeker’s cold eyes had frozen Lan in place and a distressed Cassandra had been forced to deal with everything while Varric escorted Lan out of the Templars’ sight. He’d been utterly useless.

Lan grunted and pressed himself into his bed. The one positive point of the whole trip was that they’d met Sera. She was fun. When she talked, Lan knew she was looking at the idiot elf and not the Herald, nor another elf who looked like him. It was nice. Her contempt for anything holy was entertaining, and he did enjoy her complete disregard for anything Dalish.

Unfortunately, they’d made another stop to meet with Madame de Fer. Lan had spent the whole meeting looking at her feet and nodding blindly to everything she said. He was not going to be the first person to say no to that woman. She exuded authority in a way that made Lan shake in his boots.

Now back at Haven, the night stretched and Lan couldn’t find sleep. He thought about going to see Sera and sample some more contempt. His Mark had started spluttering in Val Royeaux just after meeting the First Enchanter, and hadn’t calmed down yet. It was quiet enough, but it hurt. It stung like poison ivy, and the pain was echoed in his tattoos.

 _I’m dying_ , he thought. The Mark was killing him and his markings were attacking him from the inside. Death travelled through his veins and echoed throughout his whole body, following in the wake of those foreign energies. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so painful.

Lan passed a hand through his hair, which Josephine had cut just before he’d left for Orlais. It was odd not to feel the usual weight on top of his head and hide himself behind the wild strands.

His eyes found the book again. He groaned and reached for it. At least Varric’s uselessly complicated words were a distraction.

* * *

 Solas was standing outside the village, looking up at the Breach shining against the night sky as if he could read some incredibly interesting story in the green swirls of energy. 

He turned around when Lan called his name, face as blank as he usually presented it. Lan had seen him express emotions a few times -rare treats. He really envied anyone who had that much control over their features. Right now, his own only showed trepidation and his ears kept twitching.

“Yes?”

“I, um… I have a question.”

“Of course.”

“Actually, it’s more of a request.”

Solas nodded. “Maybe we should go to my house.”

“Oh. Maybe.”

Solas’ hovel was quite nice. Lan had never imagined the elf as being a creature of comfort, but his bed said that he at least enjoyed thick, fluffy fur pelts. There was also a stuffed nug’s head mounted on the wall. Lan tried not to look at it.

Lan sat on the bed at Solas’ demand. He rubbed his arms as the other elf looked at him patiently, waiting for him to spit it out.

“Um… remember when you asked if you could look at my tattoos?”

“I do.”

“Can you do that now?”

“I could,” said Solas. He paused for a moment. “Do you want me to look for something in particular?”

“No. Just, whatever you wanted to do the other day.”

“Certainly. Has something triggered this decision of yours?”

“Huh… curiosity?”

Solas gave him a weird look but didn’t push. He told Lan to take his shirt off and lie on the bed.

When he saw Lan hesitate, Solas spoke in a quiet voice. “I have seen your skin already while you were unconscious after you walked out of the Fade. You do not have anything to hide from me.”

“That’s not comforting,” mumbled Lan, but he complied.

He shivered as the air hit his bare skin, and quickly settled on his stomach over the fluffy, fancy furs. The markings on his back, while still faded and dull, had more definition than the ones marring his torso ; he also really didn’t want Solas to touch the large, ugly scar that seemed to cleave his chest in two.

Solas crouched by his side. Alight with magic, his hands traced the interrupted pattern of the markings, the faded swirls, the lines that stretched from his shoulder blades down to his arms and abruptly stopped halfway through his forearms as if someone had taken scissors to them. Lan felt the elf’s hands go to his neck, where the tattoos formed two thin rings just at the base, and he stiffened, but Solas didn’t touch him. He hovered just above, letting magical energy investigate the patterns.

It felt odd. As if really tiny hands were trying to pick up the lyrium lines and pull them out of his skin but didn’t have enough strength to do it.

Eventually Solas stepped back. Lan opened his eyes.

“They are lyrium,” Solas said, rubbing his hand as if to brush magical residues off of them, “but not as they should.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, as I suspected, that there are spells infused in your markings. Do not worry,” he added as Lan felt his chest constrict, “the spells are dormant. There are gaps in your markings, the pattern they should form is incomplete. It stops the flow.”

“So… so it’s defective?”

“Whoever did this to you must certainly think so. Whatever ritual they used, it failed somewhere and left behind an incomplete map. They wove spells directly into the lyrium, but those are either frayed beyond recognition or tangled together.”

“They wove spells-… so I’m like a rune,” said Lan with a frown. “I’m a living rune.”

“In… a way,” conceded Solas. “Lyrium retains magic, whether it is in runes or in your markings. But whatever disrupted the ritual also rendered the magic they contain useless.”

Solas handed him his clothes and Lan quickly slithered into them, pulling the sleeves down and adjusting them compulsively.

“There’s nothing else in there?” he asked.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know. Something that would allow me to go through walls.”

“I see you have read Varric’s book,” said Solas with a smile. “I believe this ability was caused by the lyrium itself, not the spells. Again, incomplete lyrium means you’re probably unable to do it. I would advise against throwing yourself at walls to test it.”

“Oh. Well, there goes my evening.” He pulled on his sleeves some more. “You’re sure I’m just… me?”

“Yes,” said Solas categorically. “I cannot explain your resemblance to Fenris, but I can confirm you are your own person.”

“Okay…”

“Can I ask a question?”

Lan finally looked at the elf. He had his hands crossed behind his back, looking thoughtful.

“I guess so.”

“Ehn ma’lasa a’melin?”

Lan blinked. It took him a moment to realize Solas had spoken elvish and he had to make an effort to translate the words in his head. ‘Who gave you your name?’

“That’s the clan who got me from the Tal Vashoths, before I was with the Lavellans. They said I was caked in dirt from head to toe as if I’d dug my way out of the ground. So...”

“Dirt child,” said Solas. “Not the nicest name they could have picked.”

Lan shrugged. “I didn’t even talk for a while, they thought I was weird. Well, I was. I don’t really remember it but they say I was near feral when I first woke up and actually tried to bite the Keeper.”

Solas arched an eyebrow at him. “You bit the Keeper?”

“That’s what they say. I also screamed in my sleep sometimes, apparently. And even if I didn’t let anyone touch me for a while, they could still tell I’d been touched by blood magic.”

“And still they kept you?”

“That’s pity,” said Lan flatly. “They knew I’d been a slave. Pity made them look for someone who’d want me. And it’s pity that made the Keeper of the Lavellans take me in. I’ve lived on it for three years.”

Solas said nothing for a while. Lan swallowed thickly and forced himself to uncurl his limbs. His gaze lowered, and he stared at his naked feet.

“Do you truly not remember a thing from your life in Tevinter?” Solas asked eventually.

Lan shook his head, curling his toes into the fur pelts. Looked like wolf fur. Very soft.

“There’s flashes, sometimes. I never remember them, but they leave feelings, and a headache. Erm, Solas… The markings… they can’t have been done without blood magic, can they?”

“I believe you already know the answer, Da’len.”

The nickname stilled Lan. He’d heard it around the Clan, but never directed at him. Solas looked back at him, unperturbed.

Lan sighed. “Lyrium and blood magic. Wonderful. Solas, am I going to lose my mind?”

“As I said, the magic simply cannot work with your markings as they are. You are a free elf, Da’len. From slavery and from magical thrall. Do not forget that.”

“Why not? I forget everything else.”

That got a chuckle out of Solas, which made Lan feel a bit better. He considered returning to his own hovel, but… his room didn’t have those fur pelts nor a fire running, and most of all, it was completely empty and left him alone with his thoughts. It was devoid of any stuffed nug parts but that wasn’t enough to make him appreciate it.

He shivered. “Solas, you talked a few times about journeying to the Fade.”

“So I have.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Solas seemed… well, not surprised. Lan wasn’t sure his face could actually display that particular emotion. But it was close enough.

“Do you really want to hear it?”

“Yes? I rarely remember my dreams--”

“You don’t? For a mage, that is… unusual.”

“I know,” sighed Lan. “So… can you tell me about your dreams? How is it?”

Solas sat on the chair Lan had occupied a moment earlier, brought his hands together with a thoughtful look on his face. Lan brought his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them, and listened as the other elf talked about forgotten ruins and legendary battlefields well into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So canon sometimes calls the Templar ability Smite and sometimes calls it Silence. I've decided that Smiting is the action, and the result is that mages are silenced. It's better than saying the mages are smitten... 
> 
> Tel’athim : pompous prick in elven. Lan rarely speaks elven, but when he does, it's to insult Orlesians.  
> Poor guy. He woke up 3 years ago among Dalish elves. Orlesian politics are so far out of his sphere of comprehension that Josephine might as well be speaking martian. Oh well, he'll try his best.
> 
> as for Alaslan, it does mean dirt-child, literally. While looking for a name, I found that 'dirt' (alas) is used in a few insults. It's not extremely rude, but just enough to make someone understand they're not part of the family. 
> 
> Canon does seem to paint the Lavellans as very open-minded and accepting, but Lan came to them with that name already, and his special circumstances didn't endear him to anyone. (to be fair he didn't try very hard either). Anyway, we'll learn more about his time with the Lavellans in later chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses, friendship, and Dorian.

For a refreshing change of pace, the advisors were arguing among themselves.

As always the Commander and Cassandra wanted to go talk to the templars, Leliana thought the mages were safer, Josephine wanted to explore all options. Everyone was ignoring Lan, which would have been fine if Cassandra didn’t insist his presence was required. It clearly wasn’t.

“What do you think about this, Herald?”

Lan startled and looked at Cassandra. “What?”

“You are the one who will have to make contact. It is only fair we ask your opinion.”

“That’s new.”

Cassandra scowled at him. “If you made an effort to participate on your own, perhaps we would listen to you more. You do not come forward often enough for your opinions to be heard.”

Lan bristled. “You don’t want my opinion.”

“I am asking for it right now.”

“I want to talk to the mages.”

The Commander actually chuckled. Lan felt his hackles rise and a flush rush to his cheeks, and shrunk a little in his seat.

Cullen noticed and sobered immediately. “I apologize, Herald. I was not mocking you, just -thinking to myself.”

“Well keep your thoughts to yourself, templar.”

Lan felt a little bad as the Commander’s face fell. Just a little. It was weird to see anyone react to his words as if they held any weight, but… it brought a small flicker of satisfaction.

“Then maybe we should accept Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation,” said Cassandra, bringing everyone back to the problem at hand.

The Commander got a hold of himself again and started talking about an armed guard. Lan let them work out the details. He didn’t want to say anything else, in case he turned them all against him and they decided to go to the templars just to spite him.

Organizing the trip was going to take a few days. In the meantime, and for the first time in quite a while, Lan found himself with absolutely nothing to do.

Back with the Lavellans, he’d gotten used to being useless in the corner ; but the Inquisition hadn’t let him be useless, even when he’d tried to be. He’d forgotten how to bear with having nothing to do.

He wandered aimlessly through town, watching the people live. Lan wasn’t sure he _liked_ Haven -too snowy and full of dogs, but as he took the time to survey it, he found that he didn’t dislike it.

He had a bed, was fed and clothed without having to ask for it. Varric was a constant, Sera was fun, and Cassandra was less angry than she used to. Solas seemed to enjoy his company, Josephine was a sweetheart, and a few days ago Leliana had spent a whole hour telling him about the nug colony she’d left behind to join the Inquisition.

The Commander was… less easy. Lan had a hard time listening to him during meetings, though he never voiced his opinion as he was pretty certain it wouldn’t be appreciated. Cullen kept coming at problems as if throwing soldiers armed to the teeth at them would suffice -and he kept arguing vehemently against the mages.

Twice, as daylight caught him after a sleepless night, Lan stood outside in the bitter cold and watched the soldiers exercise from a distance. Some of them were templars, Lan knew as much, but the Inquisition’s uniforms hid them. Still he watched carefully, trying to spot them. He remembered all too clearly the sensation of being silenced. If someone were to do that to him here, in Haven… well. He’d rather be prepared, just in case.

The third time Lan came to watch the training, he stopped in his tracks, both feet planted into the snow. The soldiers weren’t training. They were petting. Horses.

A lot of horses. Cullen and Cassandra were shepherding the beasts toward the stables, but it was a slow process. Lan caught a glimpse of the horsemaster they’d visited in Hinterlands. He’d forgotten they were owed horses…

One of them whinnied from way too close. Lan leapt in the air with a yell that attracted everyone’s attention just as his foot slipped, and he fell face-first in the snow.

He stayed like this a moment, burning in shame, until a hand touched him hesitantly and he snapped upright. Cassandra looked at him, puzzled.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine! I’m fine,” said Lan quickly. His face was hot enough to melt the snow clinging to it. “I’m very fine.”

The horse whinnied again and Lan bit down on his tongue to keep himself from bolting. Cassandra looked at the animal, then back at Lan.

“You have never used a horse?”

“I don’t remember,” said Lan under his breath.

“Don’t the Dalish use animals?”

“Hallas! Small and thin and easy to avoid! Not… those big…” Lan gestured at the animals.

Cassandra looked a little lost. “I was not expecting this. You will need to ride horses, Herald. We cannot continue on foot, it would take us a hundred years to close all the rifts.”

“I know! I know, I know. I--...”

“Know?”

“Yes, I know.”

Cassandra was thoughtful for a second. Lan looked down at his snow-encased feet and tried very hard to pretend the soldiers weren’t watching him and the horses weren’t right there.

“You will need a teacher.”

Oh good. Yet another flaw of his that other people will have to deal with. “Who?”

“One of the soldiers will probably be amenable.”

Lan winced. “Aren’t they supposed to think I’m the Herald and everything?”

“Herald of Andraste, yes, not Herald of Horses. I’m sure they’ll understand. I will find you someone to start this afternoon.”

Lan quickly retreated to his house and hid there until there was a knock on his door. He looked at it, frowning. Varric entered without waiting for an answer, Solas never came to him, Cassandra added shouting to her knocks, and soldiers and servants announced themselves. So who…?

“Herald?”

Shit. The Commander.

Lan’s instinct was to scramble away from the door, as if Cullen was going to break it down. But there was another knock, then a grumble that Lan didn’t quite catch but it seemed the Commander had decided the house was empty.

Lan jumped across the room and wrenched the door open. Cullen startled and blinked at him.

“Ah. I… thought you weren’t here.”

“Sorry,” said Lan, without elaborating.

“Yes… Cassandra told me you were looking for horse riding lessons--”

“ _You_?”

Lan hadn’t meant for that word to slip out, nor had he meant for it to sound so horrified and laced with obvious distaste. A moment’s silence passed. Lan’s ears were red and burning. The Commander’s face was blank, frozen.

“Not me,” he said eventually. “Recruit Martin is waiting for you at the stables.”

Lan breathed a little easier. “Thank you,” he managed to mumble.

The Commander bowed stiffly, then turned around and walked away. Lan slammed the door shut, a hand on his chest as his heart beat wildly in a pattern he recognized easily.

Fear. That was what made him so uncomfortable around Cullen. The Commander didn’t make Lan want to hide like Cassandra once had, but he still triggered… something.

Lan left the house, going to look for this Martin. Dying trampled by a horse and surrounded by manure still sounded better than ruminating on his thoughts alone in his home.

* * *

As night started to fall, Lan finally stumbled out of the stables. His back and legs hurt fiercely, horses remained big and frightening, he smelled like one of them, and Martin had been irritable and impatient. Lan suspected Cullen had chosen him on purpose.

He was so lost in his own miasma of thoughts that a cough near him made him jump out of his skin.

“Ilsa!” he said without thinking as he recognized the elven servant by his side.

She almost dropped the box she was carrying. “Your Grace! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I apologize-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Lan quickly. A coughing fit took her, shaking her frail shoulders, and Lan floundered. “I’m sorry, are you all right?”

“Yes, my Lord,” she managed between two coughs. “I apologize.”

She bowed as far as she could go with her box and hurried away so fast she’d disappeared in a matter of seconds. Lan hesitated to follow her -that cough did not sound good at all. But he doubted she would listen to him more if he started running after her like a wolf going for a halla.

It just wasn’t his day. He bumped into another servant whose name he didn’t know, another elf who immediately dropped to his knees before Lan.

“Please don’t do that,” said Lan with a wince. “Please don’t…”

The man shied away from Lan’s attempts at putting him back to his feet and ran away.

“Nobody likes me today, huh,” grumbled Lan to himself.

He looked at the Chantry, standing tall at the top of the village, and turned around. He’d rather not stumble into more servants. Instead he aimed for the tavern, but the person he was looking for was standing outside its door, looking up at the Breach with a fierce scowl on her face.

“Sera.”

“Yeah?” She turned to him, elven eyes shining in the night. “Wow. What’s crawled up your arse and died?”

Lan grinned. “I need an elf who’s not scared of me.”

“Course I’m not scared of you, have you looked at you?”

“Yeah, that’s the point. I don’t understand.”

“Who d’you scare?”

“Servants.”

Sera snorted. “Really? You don’t understand that, O great Herald of whatever?”

Lan grimaced. “So that’s it?” He raised his hand up, watched a slight green wisp escape the Mark. “They’re scared of that?”

“No, you idiot -and don’t wave that at me! You’ve been delivered by Andraste herself, you’re… I mean surely you’re even above the Empress, right? That’s a freaking title and a half, Herald of Andraste. To the little people, you’re massive!”

“Massive? I’m tiny!”

“I know!” said Sera. “I bet I can pick you up.”

“Please don’t…”

“Anyway, that’s the thing, right, doesn’t matter your size. You’re so above them you’re walking on clouds. You’re protecting them with your shiny hand and everything, nobody wants to cross you.” She paused. “Except Vivy. I think she hates you.”

“Who?”

“Madame de Fesse. I overheard her. She thinks you’re snobbing her.”

Lan gaped. “What? How! I didn’t do anything!”

“Yeah. You’ve been avoiding her so hard she thinks you want her to eff off.”

Lan kept silent, and a wide smile stretched Sera’s lips.

“You want her to eff off?”

“No! … I don’t know.”

“What’s she done to you? Except being herself.”

“Nothing. I don’t know. I don’t mind her.” Lan winced. He didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

Sera was squinting at him. “You’re scared of her.”

“No!”

“Yeah you are. I can see it. You’re rubbish at lying, you know that? You’re scared of her.”

Lan groaned. “I’m fine.”

“Then talk to her.”

“No!”

Sera pointed at him. “You are scared of her! I know it!”

“Fine! Maybe I am!” admitted Lan, swatting Sera’s finger away from his face. “She’s not the only one. I’m scared of a lot of people and I don’t even know why, so don’t ask questions.”

“Oh I know why,” said Sera. “You’re scared of her like the servants are scared of you. She’s too freaking nobble-y, she holds herself like the Maker put gold in her crack. Like she’s gonna unhinge her jaw and swallow you if you cross her.”

Lan blinked. “But I don’t… I don’t do that to the servants.”

“Yeah, but they’re too used to being treated like that, so it doesn’t matter. That’s what you’re doing to Vivy and she’s not even that bad. I mean- she’s annoying as everything but she’s not evil. I don’t think,” added Sera with a slight frown. “You,” she aimed her finger at him again, “need to buck up and go talk to her and if she starts oozing Noble all over you, you need to tell her to shut it.”

Lan slapped her finger away again. “Are you crazy?”

“It’ll be good for you!”

“Yes. It’ll be great when she proves you right and eats me where I stand!”

Sera giggled. “Seriously, if you don’t go talk to her she’s gonna have a hissy fit and it’s not gonna be fun for anyone.”

“I’ll… I’ll talk to her,” said Lan, still completely unable to sound anywhere near convincing. “I don’t know what I’ll say.” He sighed, watching his breath turn to smoke as he rubbed his arms compulsively.

“You cold?” asked Sera.

“Not really.”

“C’mere.”

She grabbed him and for a moment Lan thought she was going to hug him. Instead, she wrapped both arms around his middle and heaved, trying to lift him off his feet. But as small as Lan was, she still couldn’t pick him up and he struggled enough to topple the both of them into the snow

They started laughing, sprawled on the cold ground in the middle of the night.

“People will think we’re smashed,” said Sera, sitting up and shaking snow out of her hair. “And now I’m freezing my tits off! And it’s your fault.”

“How?!”

“You made me fall!”

“You tried to pick me up!”

“Yeah I did.” She jumped to her feet. “Get up, let’s go get warm.”

She pulled him into the tavern. Lan had no idea what to do with alcohol so he didn’t touch it, ordering a warm meal instead while Sera drunk whatever she felt like and stole bits of food from his plate. She talked about the Red Jennies, and Lan listened carefully, fascinated by these tales. An idea started to form.

“Hey, Sera.”

Sera looked at him with slightly glassy eyes. “Yeah?”

“The Knight Enchanter makes healing draughts and things, she probably knows other people who do that too. Maybe I can talk to her to distribute draughts among the servants. I can ask Josephine to help. Work some kind of deal. Right? I can talk to her if I have something to talk about. Ilsa was coughing and it sounded bad and Josephine told me we can’t pay everyone very well--”

Sera sat up, suddenly more alert. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a nice idea. You’re not as dumb as people think, huh.”

“...People think I’m dumb?”

“Some of them. You don’t talk much, they think it’s weird.” She hit him gently on the arm. “But you’re all right, your Heraldness.”

Lan felt himself smile. _Sera liked him_.

He stayed with her until her drinks caught up with her. Instead of leaving her to sleep it off on the bench as she kept asking him to do, he somehow managed to push her to her house and put her to bed, burying her under a pile of blankets to make sure no part of hers froze off, tit or otherwise.

He stayed a moment in the dark, watching Sera snore. Then he left, closing the door behind him and getting back to his own hovel, quiet and cold.

* * *

“Everything I hate,” commented Varric glumly. He was trying to pull one foot free from the wet, sticky sand pit he’d accidentally stepped into. The Storm Coast had welcomed them with a fanfare. “All in one handy place.”

“Sand?” Lan took the dwarf’s hand and pulled him out with a grunt.

“And wind, rain, sea, bird shit. And that,” he added as they crested a hill and saw a fight happening on the beach below them.

“That’s our contact!” said Cassandra.

They ran in. Lan followed reluctantly, but he’d learned his lessons. Even if he wasn’t attacking unless he absolutely had to, he stayed close to the fight so no one could single him out.

When it was over, a giant Qunari was suddenly standing in front of him. Lan blinked up at the man. All his organs seemed to liquefy.

> _Tall, horned, they surround him, weapons raised, ready to attack. Lan whimpers in fear. Flames roar around him, his body feels wrong._
> 
> _The Tal Vashoths stare at him and he tries to curl up on himself, hide among the flames---_

“--Chargers. Are you listening to me?”

“Huh?”

Lan blinked as echoes of a memory faded from his mind. He was back on the beach. The giant Qunari was talking to him. He blinked again. His tattoos were tingling uncomfortably, his head ached.

“Are you all right?” The Qunari looked mildly concerned now.

“Sorry,” breathed Lan. “Just… thinking. You, um, you were saying?”

The Iron Bull explained his services. Lan stared at him. Creators, but that was a big Qunari.

“You want to work for the Inquisition.”

“That’s the jist of it.”

“Okay.”

The Bull grinned. “That easy?”

“Well, um, probably run that past Cassandra first,” corrected Lan. “But we need all the help we can get and you’re… a very, very big help. Very big.” Lan could fit three times in that body.

Bull’s split lips made his smile a little wonky. “Done deal, then. I’ll make sure to use my bigness to your advantage.”

With the Bull and Chargers shipped to Haven, the Inquisition rode toward the Hinterlands. There was one more stop before reaching Redcliffe.

Leliana had questions for a man named Blackwall about suspicious Grey Warden disappearances. Lan didn’t know much about Grey Wardens, but Leliana wasn’t one to make idle requests, so he went. Then wished he hadn’t gone, since Blackwall seemed to hate him the moment their eyes met. He obviously thought Lan was not up to whatever the Inquisition demanded of him. _Welcome to the club_ , thought Lan.

The rest of the trip to Redcliffe passed in relative peace. Lan slowly brought his horse to walk next to Varric’s.

After a good half hour of silence, Varric cracked. “Something on your mind?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wanna share?”

“I don’t know.”

“All right. Tell me something you do know, then.”

“Oh, I know Cassandra slipped in manure this morning. She thinks nobody saw. I did.”

Varric sniggered, and Lan smiled back.

“Actually, Varric… There’s a question.”

“I’m all ears, Pointy.”

“It’s, uh… about Fenris.”

“Oh, I’m allowed to talk about him now? What do you want to know?”

“Why did he get the tattoos? What happened?”

“I thought you’d read the book.”

“I started it...”

Varric sighed deeply. “Yeah, I didn’t say everything in the book anyway. But you have the right to know : he fought for them. Or that’s what his sister said, anyway. I don’t know how trustworthy she was.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“The pain from the ritual was so great, it wiped Fenris’ memories. He can’t remember anything before he woke up tattooed... All we know is that his master organized some sort of competition, and the winner would get the brands and be granted a boon. Fenris used it to free his sister and mother.”

Slowly, Lan nodded. “Do we… do we really look that much alike? Apart from the height?”

Varric gave him a look. “You didn’t even wonder where your nickname came from?”

Lan folded an arm, showing off the sharp point of his bony elbow. “This?”

“Flaming balls, put that away before you kill someone… I’m not talking about your elbows, I’m talking about your face. It’s the same face, just… pointier. You’re made of sharp angles.”

“I’m also smaller,” added Lan. “And scrawnier.”

“Yeah well, calling you “Scrawny” would just make it sound like I’m bullying you. Are you all right?”

The Mark had flared all of a sudden. Lan closed his fist over it and nodded.

“It’s started doing that when there’s a rift nearby.”

“Looks painful. Can’t Solas do something about it?”

“No. It’s fine.”

Varric sighed. “If you say so. Anything else you want to know?”

“No… um, thank you, Varric. For always telling me everything.”

“Why wouldn’t I? There’s no point in holding on to information if it helps you out. I do like you, Pointy.”

A swell of gratitude filled Lan’s chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just for talking to you,” advised Varric. “Being kind to you isn’t a chore, you know.”

They found the rift that was disrupting the Mark just in front of Redcliffe. Green, glowy, spitting out demons -just like all the others. So of course Lan ran at it.

He circled around a Terror, baiting it toward Cassandra, then put up a barrier over Varric as a Shade was taking a keen interest in the dwarf. Unfortunately, it attracted the demon’s attention and Lan had to scramble away. And things went weird.

The world around him suddenly seemed to be going extremely fast. Lan stopped in his tracks, staring as he saw Varric all but fly from one point to the other in a blink. He felt a surge of power and then pain, sinking into his tattoos like a knife running under his skin.

The Shade sprung up on him and hit him square in the chest. He was pushed back, and the world snapped back to normal.

He bent over, chest spasming. He couldn’t breathe. The Mark was going insane. The Shade loomed over him. He heard shouts, he heard blood roar in his ears, he heard the Fade rage above him. The Shade raised its claws, ready to hit.

Lan gathered his strength and cast a barrier over himself just as the claws came down. He raised his left hand and gritted his teeth. Energy flew out of him and hit the Rift head on. The Fade roared, twisted, then fizzled out of existence, taking with it the two remaining demons, and Lan was left panting, lying in the dirt.

His arm felt numb. His tattoos were on fire, though the pain was slowly receding.

“Pointy!” Varric’s hands on his shoulder. “Talk to me!”

Varric was pushed aside by Solas, who started his whole glowing-hands thing. Lan flinched on instinct, but Solas kept his magic out of the lyrium brands and simply took some of the pain away, allowing Lan’s chest to expand again.

“I’m-I’m fine,” Lan stuttered. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” asked Cassandra, crouching on his other side.

“Shade. And… something else.”

“Time went wonky,” said Varric.

“Yes. That.”

They helped him to his feet, brushed the dirt off of him and asked about a hundred times if he was all right. He nodded every time. 

He didn’t feel all right at all. As they advanced into Redcliffe village, a strange uneasiness fell upon him, a disquieting anxiety he couldn’t quite identify. His brands were still buzzing with excess energy. He almost bumped into Cassandra when she stopped in front of an inn. She looked back at him, an eyebrow raised in silent question. He nodded, and they went in.

Grand Enchanter Fiona spotted them immediately.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she greeted, though her eyes were exclusively on Lan. “What brings you here?”

“You invited us,” said Lan hesitantly. “In Val Royeaux.”

“You must be mistaken. I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“Uh… I was there. I saw you. You came to us after the templars left.”

“The templars left Val Royeaux?” repeated Fiona, looking genuinely confused. There was movement behind her then, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Well… whoever… or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have pledged themselves to a Magister of the Tevinter Imperium.”

Lan stared at her. “What?”

“I understand you are scared,” said Solas, “but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

Fiona shook her head. “As one indentured to a Magister, I have no longer the right to negotiate with you.”

“Indentured?” repeated Lan. This made no sense. “But that’s… who?”

A figure appeared. A man clad in a red robe with a ridiculous hood, holding himself with all the assurance of the haughty nobles who’d stopped by Haven recently.

“Welcome, my friends!” he greeted. Lan tensed as he walked toward them. “Allow me to introduce myself. Magister Gereon Alexius, of the Tevinter Imperium. The Southern Mages are under my command.” His eyes settled on Lan, his smile widened. “And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

“Is it?” asked Lan. His voice was smaller than it should have been. “I-I’m here for… the mages...”

“Of course. Come with me.”

Lan looked back. Cassandra gave him an encouraging nod, Solas did absolutely nothing, and Varric sort of shrugged. Helpful.

Fear was closing his throat, but he followed the Magister to a table, where Alexius wasted no time trying to bargain the mages like they were nothing more than furniture.

“There is no telling how many Mages would be needed for such an endeavour. Ambitious, indeed.”

“I need all of them,” said Lan, doing his best to keep his voice steady. Do not show fear.

“Now, now, my friend…”

“I want all of them. It’s, uh… the Breach. Very powerful. I need all the magic available.”

The Magister gave a laugh that made Lan’s entrails squirm.

> _’You are a funny one… What would you say to some training?’_

Lan startled as the memory flashed in his mind, here and gone in the same second. The Magister squinted at him.

“Are you feeling all right?”

The Mark flared and sent a wave of pain throughout his body, and his tattoos answered in kind. Not too painful, but bad enough to make him twitch. The Magister was looking at him intensely. His eyes wandered toward Lan’s hands, clasped on the table before him. Lan quickly slipped them onto his lap.

“I’m fine. I want the mages.”

“Yes, so I understand,” said the Magister. His voice had shifted. Lan felt like an ant standing in the way between a hungry wolf and a nug. “Why don’t we go discuss it in my castle?” he asked as he stood. “After all, the Inquisition deserves a more formal setting.”

“‘Your’ castle?” repeated Cassandra in disbelief.

“For the time being.” Alexius gave her a smile.

A young man who looked a bit sickly approached Alexius and took his attention. Lan hurried to his companions’ side.

“Why would the mages pledge themselves to a Magister?” he whispered urgently. “Indentured! That’s ten years as slaves!”

“Is it?” asked Varric. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know. Who does that? Are they all insane? He’s a smarmy bastard!”

“Well, he is Tevinter,” said Varric. “Smarmy bastard is their default.”

“We can’t let him just take the mages,” said Lan, anger and panic bubbling underneath his skin. “He can’t, not if the Inquisition stands against it.” He turned to Cassandra. “We have the power to stop him, right?”

“I do not know...”

“I’ll say it’s the will of Andraste and make my hand glow and he’ll just have to listen to me!”

“We would have to discuss the matter with Josephine and Leliana, Herald. We have to see what he wants from us, we need information. This shift in his plans means nothing good.”

“Are we really going to the castle?” asked Varric. “This is so obviously a trap!”

“I think he sensed the Mark,” said Lan.

“He knows about it,” pointed out Cassandra. “This is not news to him.”

“Well, I don’t know. He changed his mind when it flared.”

“Come, my friends!” cut in Alexius, quite loudly, as the sickly man hurried out of the room followed by Fiona. “We still have much to discuss!”

“What do we do?” whispered Lan.

Cassandra stepped toward the Magister. “Why the sudden change in scenery?”

“Simply looking for a calmer place to talk,” said Alexius. “You Herald is more eager than I anticipated. I want to give him the attention he deserves.”

Lan felt sick. Apprehension buzzed inside him like a background noise. Fenris came to his mind, and he rubbed his arms compulsively, trying to soothe his antsy tattoos.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m coming.”

“Herald!”

“Da’len...”

Lan turned toward them, keeping his voice low. “I am not abandoning the mages to that man! We’re here to help people, aren’t we?”

Not a single mage would go to Tevinter against their will. Not if he had anything to say about it. He was the damned Herald! This might as well count for something other than making the Chantry want to kill him!

People in the streets seemed to cower in front of the Magister as he walked. Only three guards followed them out of the tavern ; by the time they reached the castle, there were eight of them, armed and silent, marching by their side.

“I do not like this,” murmured Solas.

“There is an Inquisition camp not far from the village,” Cassandra whispered back.

Solas nodded. “I can escape if I act quickly enough.”

“Not yet.”

Redcliffe castle screamed stability and looked impregnable. Lan winced as he walked through the massive front doors. It felt like walking into a prison.

“Remember the Seeker is here,” whispered Varric. “She can smite him.”

Lan nodded, thankful to the dwarf even if it did nothing to ease his anxiety. Alexius went to sit on the throne as if it were his. Lan resented having to look up at him. He wished the Iron Bull were with them, that would have shut the Magister up some.

“Now, this is better” said Alexius. “Calmer. Let us continue our discussion, my friend.” He snapped his fingers. Even more guards appeared, lining the walls on either side. “What are you willing to give me in exchange for the mages?”

Before Lan could think up some lie, the doors barged open behind them. Another man entered, dressed in fancy clothes and sporting an equally fancy moustache, a staff slung on his back. He was followed by the sickly man from earlier.

“I see you’ve started without me!” he declared loudly.

Another Tevinter. Lan glanced at Cassandra, who was ready to pierce through the newcomer with her sword at the first occasion.

“Dorian.” Alexius was on his feet. “What is the meaning of this? Felix?”

The sickly man stopped a few steps behind, while the other mage walked up to Lan and stood by his side, watching Alexius intensely.

“What’s this?” asked Cassandra coldly.

The newcomer flashed a bitter grin. “It seems my former mentor has decided to tear the world apart by playing with wildly unstable time magic. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s also decided to deal with your Herald a lot earlier than I thought he would.”

“I gave you the opportunity to join, Dorian,” said Alexius. His eyes were suddenly wild, this new arrival had thrown his plan into disarray. “You turned me down!”

“Have you looked at yourself recently?” retorted Dorian.

“The Elder One has power you wouldn’t believe. He will raise the Imperium from its ashes!”

“Father, are you listening to yourself?” asked Felix pleadingly.

“He will make the world bow to mages again. And the one thing standing between him and victory is you.” Alexius’ eyes landed on Lan. “You and the magic you stole from him. You stumble around without understanding what a mistake you are.”

> _’This was a mistake. We should have taken the other one!’_
> 
> _‘He showed such promises…’_

“Alexius!” Dorian stepped forward. His voice echoed against Lan’s sudden headache. “What happened to you?”

“Father, let it go. Leave the Venatori to themselves. Give the southern mages to the Inquisition and let’s go home…”

“No!” Alexius whirled toward his son. “This is the only way. The Elder One promised… if I undo the mistake at the Temple…” His eyes found Lan again. “Your marked hand is not the only thing, is it? There is something else. Venatori!” he called, and the guards all stood to attention. “Seize them!”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Dorian sprung forward, staff drawn, as everyone around Lan jumped into action.

The guards charged. Cassandra blocked. Lan threw a barrier over Solas at the last moment, saving him from an arrow just as he fade-stepped out of view. Dorian was running for Alexius.

“NO!” screamed Alexius.

He sent Dorian back with a powerful wave of energy. He unclasped his amulet and threw it into the air, but Dorian was already back on his feet. Lan was tackled and landed hard on the floor as the air around them shimmered with green energy, and then--

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madame de Fesse : fesses means butt in ~~Orlesian~~ French. Lan avoided her so hard that even Sera finds it weird. 
> 
> Right well, things are happening now... And now Lan has red lyrium, more memories, and time travel to look forward to! Fun!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil lyrium.

Lan was floating in a haze, lost in a muted storm of grey and green. Noise reached him as echoes. Two voices, overlapping, pulling him out of this nothingness.

"Kaffas… now he’s shaking like a leaf.”

> _’Stop everything! It’s not working!’_

“What did Alexius do to you?” muttered the voice ringing in Lan’s ears and not the one in his head. It was quiet, subdued, worried. The one in his head was loud and piercing.

> _’He started doing…. This. Now I cannot get to him. What do we do?’_

“Herald!” Hands shook him, their warmth seeping into Lan’s frozen body. “I don’t want to alarm you, your Worship, but we’re in a bit of a bind. I’d really appreciate it if you could wake up.”

> _'He can still be useful, dear. Put him in irons.’_

“What am I supposed to tell your friends if you die now? ‘So sorry, your all-powerful Herald decided to drown in knee-deep water. Maybe Andraste wanted a do-over’...  Ah, yes. They’re going to love that.”

> _’I want him close at hand.’_

“If you don’t wake up I’m going to have to carry you, and neither of us wants that... Maker, are you still breathing?”

A hand touched his chest. A tingle of magic reached through his armor and sunk into the lyrium in his flesh, and Lan gasped. He flailed in blind panic, before someone caught his wrist.

“Oh thank Andraste -please, calm down. You’re safe...or, as safe as you can be at the moment, which is probably not saying much.”

Lan blinked. A headache pounding in his skull distorted his vision, but Dorian’s face was above him, the man’s arms holding him above the water. The magical current Lan could feel was coming from Dorian’s hands, kept unnaturally warm as he attempted to stop the full-body shivers coursing through the elf lying limply in his arms.

Lan’s whole self was ringing like a bell. The Mark was silent, but his lyrium brands screamed and burned under his clothes.

“What… where…”

“Two excellent questions,” said Dorian with forced levity. “We should endeavour to find the answers, if you have quite finished doing your best to die in my arms.”

Lan pushed himself away with a gasp. He landed on all fours and scrambled to his feet, but the entire world tilted sideways. Dorian grabbed him as he slumped.

“Easy there. This little trip really did a number on you, hm?”

“M’fine…” Was all Lan managed to get out before a horrible cough seized him, bringing foul water up his throat.

“Of course you are.” Dorian patted his hand. “Everyone’s perfectly fine.”

“Where are we…?” whispered Lan once he could breathe again. It looked like a flooded dungeon cell. With… dead guards floating in the water.

“Ah, yes,” said Dorian, pushing a corpse with the tip of his foot. “We had a welcome committee. I unfortunately had to leave you in the water while I took care of them, which is why your lungs must be a little waterlogged. Just take a moment to find your breath. Now, as for where we are…”

Dorian started looking around, muttering under his breath as he inspected their surroundings. He looked spry and alert while Lan felt like he’d aged a hundred years.

“We were in the castle…” Lan mumbled. “They attacked us… Where are the others?”

“I don’t think they were pulled here with us,” said Dorian. “Alexius was targeting you specifically, I went along for the ride when I quite amazingly failed to tackle you out of the way. And if we are still in Redcliffe… Oh, of course!” Dorian turned to Lan, eyes shining. “It’s not  ‘where’, but ‘when’. Alexius used the amulet as a focus and pulled us through time!”

Lan blinked at the man. “That’s… that’s ridiculous.”

“And yet.”

“What? No. Forward? Backward? How? How much? Why?”

“All right!” Dorian raised a hand to stop the flow of words spilling out of Lan’s mouth. “I don’t know the answer to most of those questions, but panicking is not going to help. Let’s keep a clear head.”

Lan stared at him. “I can’t do that.” His head was a maelstrom of panicked thoughts.

“Of course.” Dorian gave him an encouraging smile. “I’ll keep a clear head for both of us. Don’t worry.”

“But I need to go back!”

“And I need several years of sleep and a scented bath,” said Dorian loftily. He caught Lan’s distraught stare and sighed. “Right. No more joking. I can’t do anything for now, I need to have a better idea of what happened. If we find the amulet, I can try to reverse the spell. How about we go look for it...”

There was nothing else to do than follow Dorian. Lan hugged himself, trying to contain the shivers still shaking him from head to toe. Pain coursed through his lyrium, pressing into his skin.

“Why has Alexius suddenly decided to deal with you now?” asked Dorian as they took a corridor at random. “I thought he wanted to wait to spring his trap, make sure he could get you. If Felix hadn’t managed to get to me so quickly… Not that my presence changed much,” he admitted.

“I don’t know why. People just hate me on principle,” grumbled Lan.

Dorian made an amused noise. “You know, I had a whole plan involving secret messages, lures, hidden meetings. It was very mysterious and dramatic. I was not expecting having to fight through Alexius’ guards quite yet.”

Lan frowned a little, suddenly realizing he was missing something quite important. “Who are you?”

“Ah…” Dorian looked over his shoulder and offered him a slightly sheepish smile. “I forgot we hadn’t been properly introduced. I am Dorian of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He gave Lan a fancy bow. “How do you do?”

Minrathous? Lan swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You’re a Magister too.”

Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically. “Let’s get this out of the way : I am a mage from Tevinter, but I am not a Magister. _I_ am an altus, thank you.”

If he said so. Lan felt too slow and tired to fight, and Dorian had done nothing but help. It was best to stay on his good side for now.

“What’s happening?” asked Lan.

“That is the big question, isn’t it,” said Dorian with a thoughtful nod. “The time-magic Alexius used? I helped him develop it. He used to be my mentor, you see, and the both of us would spend hours theorizing... Nothing ever became of it, however. Alexius could never get it to work. But he did it.” Dorian’s face darkened. “He used it to go back in time and steal the mages from under your nose, and I have no idea how he managed it.”

“He… he talked about Venatori and the Elder One.”

“The Venatori are a Tevinter cult. They believe the Imperium should go back to what it was a thousand years ago -present day Tevinter doesn’t have enough murder to their taste, presumably. As for this Elder One… I have not the slightest idea, but whoever he is, he has a thing for this hand of yours.”

Lan closed his fingers over the Mark. “I’ll gladly give it to him. Maybe then he can deal with being the Herald of Andraste and people will leave me alone.”

Dorian chuckled. It was a nice sound, bouncing off the quiet walls.

“Somehow, I don’t think the Elder One will be quite as charming as you are. I do not want to imagine what the power contained in your Mark could do within the hands of someone who thinks the Imperium needs to conform to all its worse stereotypes.”

“So you… disagree with Alexius.”

“Do I? Ah, so that’s why he tried to kill me. It makes sense now. Shhh…”

They stopped. Footsteps could be heard behind the next door. Lan and Dorian exchanged a glance, then charged in.

* * *

 The castle was riddled with red lyrium. The first time they saw it, Dorian approached, cautious but curious, and Lan had to jump and pull him back.

“Don’t! It’s evil.” He could feel it in his bones -in his markings. His own lyrium reacted, like the red glowing angrily at him was trying to pull him in, to assimilate him. It sung, rang like a distorted crystal glass, and it made Lan sick just looking at it.

“Do you know about it?” asked Dorian.

“Not really. Just heard of it through Varric. The dwarf,” he added at Dorian’s questioning glance.

“This is fascinating...”

“Evil,” repeated Lan.

“Evil minerals,” said Dorian with a shake of his head. “Well, this day just keeps getting better.”

As much as they tried to keep clear of the lyrium, it was impossible. It grew out of the walls and breached through the ground, it hang from the ceiling. They found the remains of an elf pierced through with it. Dorian took Lan by the arm to drag him away from the horrible scene, but his hand pressed on the tattoos and Lan yelped.

“Are you hurt?” asked Dorian, quickly releasing him.

“No. Sorry. I’m fine.”

Dorian gave him a dubious look. “Yes. You’re obviously at the top of your form.”

Lan laughed thinly. “Not far from it. Top of my form is not very high.”

“For someone imbued with divinity, you are very self-depreciating.”

“I’m imbued with bad luck,” mumbled Lan, hugging himself a little tighter.

“Oh, it’s not that bad. I’m here, after all.” Dorian winked, and Lan couldn’t help but chuckle.

They met few guards ; Dorian dealt with them efficiently. The dungeon was mostly silent, save for the song of the red lyrium permeating Lan’s tattoos. He wondered if Dorian heard it as well or if he was going crazy. He didn’t dare ask, just in case it was the second option.

Until they heard a voice coming through a door, which made Lan stop dead in his tracks.

“Cassandra. That’s Cassandra!” He ran.

Lan skidded to a halt before the cell. Cassandra had her back to him, she was reciting parts of the Chant of Light.

“Cassandra!”

She turned around. For a terrifying second Lan thought she was bleeding from the eyes. Red looked back at him, red bled out of her.

“Herald?” Cassandra came up to the bars. “Can this really be?” Her eyes stared into Lan. “Has Andraste given us another chance ?”

Her voice was twisted, distorted. Her clothes were filthy and torn, her skin glowed red and and sang that discordant song. Red poured out of her in waves, covered her, painted the hollows below her eyes and dripped out from her voice.

Lan sunk to his knees. “What happened to you?”

“Maker forgive me.” Cassandra kneeled on the other side of the bars. “I failed you. I failed all of us. The end must be near if the dead return to life.”

Her hands landed close to Lan’s. The song of the red lyrium swelled. The energy pouring out of Cassandra honed in on Lan’s markings, then something was trying to force its way into him, under his skin, trying to bury itself under his nails. He screamed. He wrenched his hands away and scrambled back until he hit Dorian’s legs.

“What?” asked the man in alarm. “What happened?”

“I- the lyrium-”

“...Right.”

With a quick spell Dorian opened the cell door. Cassandra rushed out, looking like she wanted to help Lan to his feet, but Dorian stepped in before she could. Lan let the mage pull him up.

Cassandra’s face showed only sorrow and confusion. Lan wanted to reassure her, tell her he was okay, wipe that look off her face. He also wanted to stay far away from her and the red corruption she carried.

“All right, let’s clear things up,” declared Dorian. “Nobody is dead. Alexius tried to erase us from time, but something went wrong and he sent us forward in time instead. We’re trying to find him so we can go back.” 

“Go back?” Cassandra’s eyes finally left Lan. “So you can erase this past year?”

“A year?” breathed out Lan. “An entire year? How?!”

“That is quite impressive,” said Dorian.

“After you disappeared,” explained Cassandra, her voice breaking over the word, “we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered… and an army of demons rose and swept the land. Nothing could stop them.” Cassandra briefly closed her eyes. “Nothing.”

“No.” Lan took a step toward her despite the red lyrium. “No, that’s not happening. Dorian, we have to go back.”

Dorian looked grim. “I don’t want to stay here any more than you do. Maybe we should get on with it.”

“Varric,” said Cassandra. “He is in this prison.”

“What about Solas?”

“He managed to escape when the Magister killed you. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Shit...” Lan looked at Dorian, who was observing Cassandra with pity in his eyes. "We have to get him."

Dorian's eyes snapped to him. He marked a pause before nodding. "Let's go."

* * *

 Lan couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not, but Dorian was walking between him and Cassandra, as if to shield him for the lyrium she carried.

The Tevinter mage obviously thought Lan incompetent and felt some kind of need to protect him, lest a stiff wind broke his spine. To Dorian’s defence, Lan hadn’t shown a lot of strength since they’d met. Or… ever. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they got back to their timeline and made sure none of this ever happened.

They found Varric in the same state as Cassandra. Lan could barely stand to look at him. The dwarf only expressed relief at seeing them, but his distorted voice and the waves of _wrong_ emanating from his abused body drove a picket of guilt right into Lan’s heart. Himself felt no relief, only horror. 

Dorian kept on playing the meat shield, but two lyrium-infested bodies in close proximity made Lan’s tattoos itch and burn and pull at him. The horrible song followed him, relentless. They fought off a few guards and Lan had to focus twice as hard to throw his barriers, trying to ignore the whispers coursing through his tattoos. Hands shaking, mind unfocused. Dorian had to step in to protect him a few times, though thankfully the man was a more than capable fighter.

How long had they been here? It felt like hours, hiding and running and getting a facefull of red lyrium. They found Fiona. Too late. The red lyrium had grown out of her body and pinned her to the wall like a butterfly.

“Can’t we get her out?” asked Lan in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t think we should try,” cautioned Dorian. “I’m sorry.”

Leaving Fiona behind made Lan want to throw up, but it was nothing compared to seeing what had become of Leliana when they found her.

Lan could not feel red lyrium on her -in her- but she looked halfway through becoming a darkspawn, though her eyes were clear as she used the distraction of Dorian bursting through the doors to kill her torturer.

“Leliana I’m so sorry,” whispered Lan. “This was never meant to happen!”

She ignored him completely. Snapping at Dorian who was trying to explain the situation, she didn’t even meet Lan’s gaze. She found weapons and threw them at whoever wanted them, and immediately walked out to lead them to Alexius.

“Leliana… Leliana wait! Is there anyone else here?”

“No,” she answered curtly. She finally looked at Lan, if only briefly. “They are all dead or dying. Cullen tried to assault the castle but what remained of our forces could not stand against this evil. The attempts stopped months ago. He died, or was captured and is worse than dead.”

Lan didn’t ask another question. He followed the others, mechanically, giving up on thinking entirely. The only thing left in his mind was the Song, screeching at him like a dying horse. He didn’t notice Dorian was talking to him until the man touched his shoulder hesitantly.

“What?” mumbled Lan, blinking.

“You’re slowing down.”

Lan started a little. “I’m-I’m sorry,” he stuttered, looking at Varric, Leliana and Cassandra who had stopped ahead and were looking back at him.

“No need to be,” said Dorian gently, “but unfortunately we don’t have the freedom to take a break. Do you think you can go a little faster?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry.”

Lan forced his legs to walk again, one foot in front of the other, faster. It just wasn’t working. He stumbled and nearly fell down, catching himself on Dorian’s clothes. The Tevinter wrapped an arm around his ribs to keep him upright, but the pain made Lan yelp and flinch away.

“Kaffas…” Dorian held onto him, stopping him from face-planting on the floor. “I’m really sorry if anything I’m doing is hurting you, Herald, but I can’t leave you here.”

Lan was taking faint gasping breaths. Dorian tightened his hold around him and Lan clenched his teeth to avoid crying out. Every point of contact with his markings felt like they’d been lit on fire.

“Is he hurt?” asked Varric in concern.

“I have no idea,” said Dorian curtly. He started walking again, pulling Lan along. “Just keep your distance, I have him. Keep going.”

Varric nodded, worry clear in his eyes, and reluctantly turned around. Lan held on to Dorian’s clothes so tightly it hurt and cramped his fingers.

* * *

 When they found the Magister, he was a shadow of his former self. A man… was it a man? crouched beside Alexius. It looked like a corpse -grey, lifeless skin taut over brittle bones, before light caught his face and Lan gasped.

“Felix.”

“That’s Felix?” Dorian’s eyes went wide, his body going rigid. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done!”

Alexius turned to face them. Despair colored his face, and it made something ugly wake up in Lan’s chest. He hoped the man felt the weight of his decisions on every inch of his body, that it crushed him and choked him with every breath he took.

Anger muted some of the pain as it pushed the Song away from his head and replaced it with a need to _fight_. Lan straightened, pulling himself away from Dorian’s support, his hands going for the staff strapped to his back.

“All that I fought for,” said Alexius, “all that I betrayed… and what have I wrought? Ruin and death.” His eyes settled on Lan. “You are more than I thought… but it does not matter in the end. The Elder One comes. For me, for you, for all of us. There is no escape, not even for someone like you.”

Leliana jumped out of the shadows. Lan had not seen her move, but she was suddenly behind Felix and holding a blade to the man’s throat. Alexius’ apathy slipped. He panicked, but couldn’t send a spell quickly enough. With one swift move, Leliana had slit his son’s throat. 

Alexius let out a howl. The concussive force that emerged from his staff sent everyone flying into the walls.

Time magic sprung around them. Lan felt it sink into his tattoos like claws digging in his flesh. But the magic wobbled as it wrapped the world around them, and the tension ripped a rift right above their heads. Demons dropped down with a roar.

The others were rallying, Cassandra threw herself at a Terror with a yell. Lan threw a barrier around her and dragged himself back to his feet just in time to avoid fire flying his way. Beside him Varric seemed to be stuck in the time magic and his body was going painfully slowly, but before Alexius could notice Lan sent a gust of wind at the dwarf, dislodging him from the path of the twisted magic. Varric looked disoriented for a moment but didn’t have time to dwell as a Shade advanced toward him.

Lan caught sight of Dorian preparing a powerful spell, but so was Alexius, aiming his staff right at him. Lan ran at fast as his legs could carry him, threw himself behind Dorian and poured all his energy into yet another barrier around them, anchoring it on himself so he could hold on to his spell with every inch of his body.

Alexius’ spell hit with the force of a golem. The shock sent ripples through both Lan’s magic and his body, but the barrier held strong, unwavering.

“Let go!” screamed Dorian.

Lan broke the spell, and Dorian let his own fly. It broke through Alexius’ own barrier and knocked him down, wrenching a cry from his throat. Lan raised his hand toward the rift, seeking the connection between Fade and Mark and forcefully pulling it close, recalling the demons into it. In the resulting flash of green light, Leliana jumped at the downed Magister and plunged both her daggers into his heart.

The time magic disappeared in a blink. Alexius let out a pitiful gurgle. And then…

“Dead.” Leliana stood up.

Dorian was crestfallen as he crouched at his mentor’s side. Lan gulped a lungful of air, his skin prickling. The guards had heard the fight. The sound of hundreds of feet running on naked stone reached them. The ground trembled, the air around them shivered. Something else was approaching, much more dangerous than guards. Lan looked at his friends, looked at Dorian, but nobody knew what to do.

Until Leliana turned to Dorian. “How long for you to cast the spell?”

“An hour, give or take.”

“That’s not possible! You have to go now!”

“We will keep them off you,” said Cassandra.

Lan’s heart dropped. “No!”

“I’ll stay here,” said Leliana with a resigned nod, ignoring him. “When they break through, I will buy you as much time as I have arrows. Get to work.”

“No!” Lan took a step toward Varric, but the red lyrium stopped him. “No, Varric…”

“Hey,” said Varric, taking his weapon in his hands. He grinned. “You’re gonna make it right, aren’t you?”

“I-”

“I know you will. Go. Make sure this never happens.”

Varric turned around. Cassandra followed him out of the door, and Lan was left to stare as it closed over them.

Leliana notched an arrow. She whispered the Chant to herself, a constant litany, as Dorian started to work on the amulet. Lan felt it come to life, felt the time magic bubble back to the surface. He gritted his teeth as the sound of fighting bled through the walls.

He heard Cassandra yell, he heard Varric cry out. The doors shook. So did the walls, as another force, much greater, descended on the castle. Lan’s hands tightened around his staff, knuckles white with strain. 

An eternity passed as the sound of his friends dying filtered through the crumbling walls. Then the doors burst open. Leliana’s voice rose, the Chant spilling from her lips as if she used it as a shield, and she loosed her arrows one after the other, hitting demons and Venatori with deadly accuracy.

The lifeless corpse of Varric was thrown into the room, landing like a broken doll on the floor. An arrow caught Leliana in the shoulder. The Chant faltered for a second, before she took it up again, raising her bow once more. 

Dorian’s hand was suddenly on Lan’s arm. He hadn’t realized he’d moved toward her, toward Varric’s lifeless form.

“Move and we’re all dead!” warned Dorian.

Leliana was a flurry of limbs. She fell enemies one after the other, fueled by nothing but desperation and a certitude that she was not going to survive. Lan held on to Dorian’s arm with bruising force, forcing himself to stay put as the time magic grew and grew.

The world exploded in a flash of green. The last thing Lan saw before pure agony swallowed him was Leliana’s throat being cut open.

Then he was standing back in Redcliffe’s throne room, Cassandra, Varric and Solas alive, if wounded, and surrounded by both Venatori and Inquisition guards. Their sudden reappearance made the Venatori flounder, and the Inquisition soldiers used that to their advantage.

In the middle of the room, Alexius and Felix were alone. Dorian was saying something, Lan didn’t listen. Rage filled him as thoroughly as the pain coursing through his body. He walked to the Magister and raised his staff, ready to throw a deadly spell, to stop this future from ever happening, to--

Alexius fell to his knees. Lan stopped.

“You won,” declared Alexius. “There is no point extending this charade.” His voice broke as he looked at his son and whispered his name.

Felix crouched by his father’s side. “It’s going to be all right, Father.”

Alexius’ face crumbled. “You will die.”  

“We all die.”

Father and son held on to each other, and Lan felt the anger bleed out of him as quickly as it had entered. He lowered his staff. His limbs were heavy, his head ached with the sudden silence now that the Song was gone. He was tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! That was all very traumatic. 
> 
> (This quest is one of the hardest for me to play through, everything in that alternate Redcliffe is so soul-destroyingly bleak and hopeless. Ouch.)


	5. Chapter 5

Cassandra was asking questions as soon as the Inquisition soldiers had dragged Alexius away. Dorian, only slightly dishevelled and still standing straight, filled in the blanks in Lan’s answers -there were many of them, words seemed to be running away from him.

Eventually Cassandra fell quiet for a few seconds, her face drawn and paler than usual as she studied Lan. She asked Dorian to follow her, which the man did obligingly, and Lan was alone. He sat on a bench, heavy and listless. After hours of panic and grief, now he was empty and his thoughts floated out of reach. Redcliffe was bursting with shouts and movement, turning around him as if he were stuck in one of these slowed-down time bubbles.

Varric’s voice pierced through his apathy. The dwarf offered him a smile and a canteen filled with fresh water, and before he could stop himself, Lan was moving and crushed him into a hug.

“Woah, hey!” yelped Varric. “Careful here, Pointy! That dwarf’s spoken for already!”

“Sorry.” Lan released him, though his hand lingered on the dwarf’s arm. “Sorry.”

Varric straightened himself. “I didn’t know you were a hugger.”

“Me neither,” said Lan. He stared at the dwarf, tried to paint over the image of his broken body on the floor with this one, put off and worried, but smiling, and alive, and whole.

Varric explained Solas had fade-stepped out of the castle as soon as Lan had disappeared and fetched the Inquisition soldiers outside Redcliffe. They’d ran in, dealt with the surprised Venatori while Felix had put himself in his father’s path to stop him from casting deadly spells, and didn’t have time to do much more before Lan and Dorian were back. This world hadn’t even caught a glimpse of everything Lan had seen.

It took a long time for things to settle ever so slightly. A few Inquisition soldiers left for Haven first with Alexius, silenced and in chains ; the rest were now investing the village, and the mages were congregating in the town square, worried, confused. Lan looked at them all. They didn’t know how close this had been. Didn’t know they’d avoided being used as lyrium farms, as puppets to this Elder One. They were just scared of the present.

Cassandra was busy with the soldiers. Solas and Varric were talking to each other. Dorian was standing a little outside the crowd, arms crossed and mouth pulled to the side. His grey eyes met Lan’s and he smiled a small, sad smile. He’d seen the future too. He was wondering how to prevent it.

Lan stood from the bench, and then climbed onto it. His throat hurt as he coughed to clear his voice.

“Hello?” he called.

The mages all turned to him, eyes wide, and Lan almost flinched under their attention. He steeled himself, letting some energy flow into the Mark until it flared and pulsed with its green glow. Once he was certain everyone here knew who he was, he took a deep breath, and pushed himself to talk.

“The Magister Alexius does not own you anymore. Nobody owns you. But the Inquisition still needs your help. I can’t close the Breach alone. We need you to fight with us.”

Fiona detached herself from the crowd.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

Dorian spoke up. “Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

Lan nodded. “All I ask is your cooperation and your help fighting something bigger than any of us. You don’t need to bend to someone else’s will, you don’t need to worry about templars. The Inquisition... “ Lan faltered, catching a glimpse of Cassandra looking at him. He tore his eyes away. “The Inquisition pledges to protect you.”

A murmur went through the crowd. It grew quickly, until there were various shouts of agreement, and Fiona nodded solemnly.

“We accept.”

Lan sighed in relief. He quickly stepped down from the bench and hurried toward a dark corner, away from the crowd.

* * *

 The trip back to Haven passed in a blur.

Cullen, Leliana and Josephine were at the gates, having received a messenger crow the day before. Lan, framed by Cassandra and Dorian, answered their rapid-fire questions, but their focus quickly shifted off of him and to arguing among themselves.

“I maintain we should have gone to the templars,” was saying the Commander. “The danger of having so many mages in one place-”

“We cannot rescind the invitation,” cut in Josephine. “It will make the Inquisition look incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst!”

The Commander turned to Lan. “What were you thinking, turning the mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open! They are vulnerable to every demon pressing against our world!”

Lan stiffened, memories of red lyrium clinging to him. “They need protection. I did the only thing I could think of.”

“Sentimentality has no place here! How many lives will be lost if they fail? How many abominations will we have in our ranks?”

“Sentimentality?” Lan started to shake, with anger or fear he didn’t know. “I saw Cassandra die, I saw Leliana die!  I didn’t see you in that future Commander, but Leliana told me you’d been captured. If I’d met your future self it would have been as a corpse or a red lyrium farm. It wasn’t a dream! It was reality, it’s what is going to happen if we leave the mages no choice but to sell themselves! They came peacefully, they want to help!” Cullen twitched at the words, but Lan wasn’t finished. “I didn’t do this for sentiments, I did it to save you -to save everyone, including mages.”

“You ignored the risks--”

“You have a covert army of templars among the Inquisition soldiers, don’t tell me you can’t deal with those risks. I barely managed to get them out of slavery, I’m not going to lock them up somewhere until it tickles your fancy to let them see the sun!”

“Enough!” Cassandra stepped in the middle of the group before the Commander, whose eyes flashed with anger, could respond. “Arguing like this will get us nowhere. We cannot afford to second-guess our people,” she said, looking pointedly at the Commander. “The Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ support, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice pragmatism speaks,” said Dorian, speaking up for the first time. “And here I was starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra gave him a dark look, before ignoring him.

“The Breach still needs to be closed. We will need to prepare for this.”

“We also need to look into the things you saw in that dark future,” said Leliana. “Empress Celene’s assassination, the demon army, the red lyrium…” she shook her head. “Too many things that we didn’t know about.”

“Sounds about right for a Tevinter cult,” pointed out Dorian. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises… chaos for everyone!”

The Commander sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like a headache threatened him.

“Cassandra is right. One thing at a time. It’s going to take some time to organize our troops and prepare the mages, in any case. Herald…” he looked at Lan, his eyes were a lot softer. “I apologize. Again. It is not my wish to undermine you. I will complete my end of the bargain.”

With a stiff bow, he walked out of the room. Cassandra shook her head.

“He means well.”

“Maybe he should mean better!” thundered Lan. “I’m not doing all this because it randomly went through my head! I’m trying…” He deflated, exhaustion weighing him down. “I’m trying, Cassandra.”

“I know,” she said steadily. “Cullen is not goading you on purpose, you should not take it personally.”

“Huh. Maybe if he stopped attacking me personally I’ll stop taking it personally.”

Cassandra frowned. “You read more evil in his words than there is.”

Lan sighed. “Maybe. I’m sorry.” He glanced at her. “You’re not angry with me?”

“For doing what we asked you to do?” she said. “No, I am not angry. The mages are free and this will bring its own problems, whether you like it or not, but you did what you thought just. I cannot fault you for it.”

“We should let the Herald get some rest,” intervened Josephine. “Nothing more will be accomplished tonight, and you look dead on your feet.”

Lan felt like it too. The weight of everything was resting on his shoulders, pulling him down, and he was still shaking from the burst of adrenaline against the Commander. His feet dragged as he walked through the snow under the night sky, and it took him a second to register another set of footsteps behind him.

“Dorian?” he asked in surprise as he looked over his shoulder. “Are you following me?”

Dorian laughed. “Oh Maker, no. I have no desire to watch you snore in your bed. I was thinking I would like to take a closer look at this Breach.”

“Alone?”

“I am very good company,” said Dorian with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to get swallowed into the Fade. You’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Are you staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention it? The South is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces,” Dorian said flatly.

Lan felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “Clearly. Do you… have anywhere to stay?”

“Me? I can always find a bed to spend the night.”

With a smirk and a nod, Dorian continued on his way out of the village. Lan watched him until he disappeared behind the stakewall. It suddenly hit him that he hadn’t even thanked the mage for his help.

Tomorrow, he thought, turning back to his shack. Tomorrow, he would find Dorian and thank him, and apologize for how useless he’d been. Tonight, he was simply going to sleep and be grateful that he never remembered his dreams. He could feel the nightmares pressing against his mind before he even reached the bed.

* * *

Lan woke up feeling disgusting. The remnants of forgotten nightmares clung to his mind like phantomatic cobwebs, red colored the darkness behind his eyelids, and both the Mark and his tattoos were stinging unpleasantly. He stayed in bed for so long that Cassandra had to send a servant to knock on his door.

He flopped out of bed and stumbled over to a bucket of ice-cold water. He put his face into it and stayed there until he had to resurface to take a breath. It helped, some. He dressed quickly and stepped out.

“Hey, you!”

Lan turned to Sera, running up to him.

“Is it true?” she asked.

“What is?”

“You shouted at everyone yesterday?”

Lan grimaced. “… maybe.”

“In the Chantry? In the middle of the night?” Sera grinned widely. “First time you shout and it’s right in the earholes of the Maker!”

“I’m not proud of it.”

“You should be! It’s good for you! Gets some anger out! I bet you’re full of anger.”

“I’m not!”

“Are too!”

“Am no-- are we really doing that?”

Sera poked him quite painfully in the fleshy part of his arm -or… the fleshiest possible part of his arm.

“And you brought the mages here.”

“They’re not here yet. And they’ll help with the Breach, all right?”

“Oh yeah, sure, all right. As long as they help over there, away from me. S’fine. Maybe not with everyone though.”

“If they have a better idea, I’m listening,” snapped Lan. “Let them try to keep everyone alive at the same time, see what they come up with. And just- leave me alone. I have to go see Cassandra.”

“See?” shouted Sera as he walked away. “Angry!”

“Am not!” retorted Lan.

Cassandra was busy helping the Commander monitor the troops through their morning routine. Lan approached warily, but the Commander was too focused to notice him.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked Cassandra.

“Herald. How are you feeling?”

Oh. He hadn’t expected concern. “I’m fine.”

“You do not look fine.”

“Bad night.”

She gave him a knowing look. “I should think so. I wanted to talk to you about the Tevinter Magister you brought with you.”

“He’s not a Magister, he’s an Altus.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“It’s like nobility,” said Lan with a slight frown. 

“Whatever he is, his presence unnerves our people. I know he helped you a great deal and I do not want to discount this, but I have to ask… are you sure about him?”

Lan hesitated. “Has he done anything?”

“Other than annoy Solas with questions about the Breach and get in a fight with the Iron Bull, I do not think so.”

“A _fight_?”

“Verbal only. I do think he is cleverer than to challenge that Qunari to combat. Nevertheless, their little demonstration early this morning did nothing to help.”

“Huh… do you think I should talk to him? Shouldn’t you be the one to talk to him? You have more authority than I do.”

Cassandra sighed. “I am not asking you to tell him off. Simply to be on your guards. It is possible he is as he appears ; but it is also possible he could be a spy. Putting our trust in a Tevinter mage is not the wisest course of action right now.”

“But.. Cassandra, he helped us so much, you saw what he--” Lan stopped himself as Cassandra’s eyebrows rose on her forehead.

No, she hadn’t seen anything. Not this Cassandra. This Cassandra had no idea Lan had almost collapsed and Dorian had dragged him through the castle, because Lan hadn’t told her and neither had Dorian.

She couldn’t understand the risk Dorian had taken, she hadn’t seen. She hadn’t lived through it. Lan stared at her a moment. He was so indescribably happy that she didn’t know, but at the same time, he felt a strange disconnect with this version of her.

“Herald?”

“Yes,” he said, shaking himself. “Right… I’ll be careful. Was that all?”

“We are going to meet in the War Room soon. I wanted to make sure you knew you were welcome.”

Lan looked at the Commander, still focused on his soldiers. “Are you sure?”

“You two will need to work together if this Inquisition is to manage anything,” said Cassandra. “You are the Herald of Andraste. You cannot shirk your duties and Cullen will stand by your side, whether you believe it or not. We need you, your Worship.”

“I’m not shirking anything,” grumbled Lan. “I’ll be there.”

Cassandra seemed relieved. “Thank you.”

Left to himself for a while, Lan wandered through Haven. He saw the Iron Bull sitting with his company outside the village. Lan exchanged nods of acknowledgement with him before hurrying away. He really, really wasn’t the right man to have any kind of conversation with the Bull.

Dorian caught his attention, shining as he did among the rather muddy Fereldans that populated Haven. The mage was talking to the blacksmith and though he couldn’t hear anything, Lan could easily read the hostility in the blacksmith’s stance.

Cassandra’s warning ran through his head. He stopped, hesitating. But the Blacksmith suddenly spat at Dorian and turned around, slamming the door in the mage’s face. Stunned, Lan watched as Dorian wiped his clothes and turned around. He stopped when he met Lan’s gaze, eyes widening a bit. He didn’t look sad or angry. Just resigned.

Lan made a decision. He crossed the space between them, and greeted Dorian with a respectful bow.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, your Worship,” said Dorian, responding in kind.

“I’m... Alaslan.”

“Ah. I haven’t heard your name spoken even once since I met you. I was starting to wonder if it was not simply Herald. An unfortunate name, to be sure, although I have heard worse... Nice you to meet you, Alaslan.”

Dorian’s tongue flowed easily, in a way Lan’s tongue could only dream of.

“Just Lan is fine.”

“Really? You want me to call you by a nickname?” said Dorian with a smile. “Oh, the scandal. Lan it is, then. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you free right now?” Lan blurted out.

“That’s quite a loaded question. Do you need me for something?”

“Maybe just…” Just what? What did people do to socialize? Oh, right. “A drink… at the tavern?” Lan winced as he heard his own words, but Dorian laughed.

“You’ve never done this, have you.”

“No. Not many taverns in the Ferelden wilderness.” And not many friends to drink with.

“I shall be your guide, then,” said Dorian easily.

They walked to the tavern in silence, as Lan was too busy noticing the odd looks thrown their way and thinking about what he was going to say to this man. Sorry people don’t like you? But thanks for saving my life anyway? He should have taken Varric with him. Varric always knew what to say.

Except this Varric, just like Cassandra, hadn’t lived through Redcliffe. He wouldn’t understand either.

As he didn’t have the first clue about alcohol, Lan let Dorian order drinks while he chose an isolated table. This close to lunchtime there were quite a lot of people here, and they all watched the Tevinter and the Herald like hawks.

“It’s not very strong,” said Dorian, setting a glass before Lan. “I figured you didn’t need any additional help getting a headache.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Dorian sat down, ankle crossed over a knee. “Now, why the sudden invitation? I am going to guess this is not just so you can look at me up close, although I’d understand if it were. Why are you risking the ire of your men?”

“They’re not my men,” said Lan immediately.

“Really? They seem to follow your word.”

Lan snorted, thinking of the Commander. “When it goes along with what they want to hear.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow. “I doubt every single mage was excited about being recruited to the Inquisition. They followed because you fought for them and offered them a fair deal. If you had not stood up for them as you did, we would not be where we are right now.”

“Cassandra would have done it if I hadn’t. I took her thunder.”

Dorian made a mocking little noise. “The mean Seeker who thinks your Chantry’s cautionary tales are facts? I don’t think that would have gone very well… do you really not realize the influence you have over these people?”

“It’s not me. They follow the Herald.”

“And the Herald is not you.”

“No. It’s some elf who’s been sent down by Andraste and can apparently bless babies and fight a dragon all by himself or… whatever the latest rumor is.”

Dorian fell silent, observing Lan like he was a piece of puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Lan squirmed where he sat and took a sip of his drink.

“So you’re an Altus,” said Lan hesitantly.

“I am.”

“You didn’t tell me what that meant.”

“Well, supposedly our bloodline descends from powerful Dreamers who could talk to the Old Gods… In other words, the perfect embodiment of everything the South fears about Magisters. So of course we get preferential treatment.”

Lan nodded. “So… you are a noble.” He’d told Cassandra as much. But how had he known…?

“In name, if nothing else,” said Dorian nonchalantly. “Not that it’s of any importance anymore. I doubt my upbringing will do anything for me here, except attract even more scorn.”

“Yes, about that… What were you talking about with the blacksmith?”

Dorian sighed. “I was simply looking to replace the blade on my staff. It’s cracked and worn nearly beyond repair, I’m afraid.”

“There’s a shop,” said Lan. “You could try there.”

“Yes… I was looking to spare a few coins, however. Getting an order direct from the blacksmith is slightly less costly.”

“Oh. I have--” Lan stopped himself. He had money or skill to offer, but not enough money for a good blade and not skilled enough for a beautiful one. Dorian came from money, even if being so far from Tevinter must have cut him off from his usual wealth. He wouldn’t appreciate a badly made blade, would he?

“What do you have?” prompted Dorian, curious.

“Nothing.”

Dorian chuckled. “Nobody told me the Herald of Andraste was an expert conversationalist.”

“Sorry,” said Lan quickly. “I, um… I want to thank you. For everything you did back in Redcliffe. If you hadn’t been there…” Lan shuddered at the thought.

“It’s always been my belief that everything goes a lot better when I’m here,” said Dorian with a smile, though it looked a bit forced.

“Are you… are you feeling all right?”

“I’m feeling about as well as you look rested.”

Lan huffed. “No great, then?”

“Let’s just say you could probably do with a few week’s worth of sleep.” Dorian paused, tapping a finger against the brim of his glass. “It was unnerving,” he admitted. “Is the Inquisition really going to shelter all the rebel mages?”

“It’s, uh… working on it,” said Lan. “I want it to. They’ll help with the Breach. They’ll be safe here, far from all the red lyrium and…”

“And Alexius’ madness,” finished Dorian.

“I’m sorry you had to fight against him,” said Lan softly.

“I’m not,” said Dorian coldly. “He’s made his bed. What he was ready to do to his own son…” Dorian’s voice trailed off. “I hate to think that some version of my friend lived through this. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you either.”

Lan’s hands tightened around his glass. He brought it to his lips, tasting the faint traces of bitter alcohol lost in the fruity taste.

“Felix left quickly.”

“He’s going back to Tevinter,” said Dorian. “He wants to tell the Magisterium about the Inquisition.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

Dorian let out a short laugh. “I’m not exactly welcome home,” he said. “And I want to stay. I want to put a stop to this madness, I want to see it through.”

“You’re not welcome home?” repeated Lan in curiosity, but Dorian’s lips twitched downward.

“That’s a story for another time, Herald.”

“Lan.”

“Right.”

Lan bit his lips. “Felix… he’s sick?”

“The Blight,” said Dorian bluntly. “It is consuming him slowly.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. Felix is a good man, he does not deserve that. Nor did he deserve what Alexius did to him.” Dorian grabbed his glass and took a swig from it. “Well. Very few of us ever get what we deserve, do we,” he concluded, setting his glass back down with a thump. “Which is partly why I want to stay. To shut the beak of those among my countrymen who are giving the rest of us a horrible reputation.”

Lan glanced around, at the many eyes still on them even as people were trying not to be obvious.

“I’m sorry for how… my men… are treating you.”

Dorian waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I’m used to being a pariah. Here or back home, doesn’t change much.”

“But they shouldn’t… I mean, you did everything back in that future. You saved me, you made sure we got back, you fought when I couldn’t! I was useless. But they mistrust you and worship _me_.”

“Such high praises,” said Dorian, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s not forget I had the unfair advantage of not being in pain while you almost passed out with it. The things Alexius said about you… Well,” said Dorian when Lan’s gaze lowered. “I don’t mean to intrude on something I do not understand. I simply assumed something in you reacted to the magic he used.”

Lan nodded slowly. He couldn’t deny it, Dorian wouldn’t believe him.

“I don’t know how he figured it out,” he mumbled into his glass. “It’s not… it’s not supposed to react to anything. It’s supposed to be dormant.” A sudden realization came over him. “But you’re from Tevinter!”

“Did you only just figure that out?”

“You know that kind of magic!”

“What kind of magic?”

Lan stopped, mouth open, cutting himself off before he could spill his secret.

“I mean… the time magic,” he corrected awkwardly.

Dorian shook his head. “Everything I know about it says nothing about torturing someone just by proximity. I can’t help you there.”

“Right. Sorry for suggesting it.”

“Your barrier spells… they were far from useless. They seem extremely powerful. Where did you learn that?”

Lan shrugged. “I just like them.”

“Yes? It managed to swallow Alexius’ strongest spell without breaking. It was powerful enough that it dampened my own magic considerably. At first I thought my connection to the Fade had gone wrong, you surprised me.”

“Ah, well. Sorry.”

Dorian grinned. “Is it a compulsion, I wonder?”

“What?”

“The apologizing thing. You keep doing it. For standing up for the mages when no one else had the courage to do it -don’t start with Cassandra, she did not do it, you did-, for people’s natural distrust of anything Tevinter, for Alexius’ madness, for being hurt by magic nobody understands, for that barrier that very well saved my life… You do realize that none of those things demand an apology.”

“Sorr-uh…” Lan clamped his mouth shut. Dorian grinned harder, and Lan felt his cheeks heat up. “I’m not doing it on purpose! Fenedhis...”

“Did you just insult me in elven?”

Lan started. “No! Not at all!”

“All right, I believe you,” said Dorian soothingly. “You don’t need to shout.”

“Sorry! Ah…” Lan slumped into his seat, too flustered to even think straight anymore. “I’m an idiot.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“I made one speech and I know how to make a barrier, but that’s it. I’ve done nothing else. I don’t know how to be their blighted Herald! The Commander hates me, the spymaster thinks I’m useless and the Ambassador knows I’m stupid. I make one big decision by myself and that just creates more problems. I don’t know how this Breach-sealing thing is going to end… if it ends. I’m…” Lan stopped himself. He was spilling his guts, he realized, and he couldn’t blame it on the drink, it was as mild as Dorian had promised. His ears were burning and twitching compulsively. “Never mind. I-I have to go. They’re probably waiting for me in the war room, for some reason.”

He stood, but Dorian stood with him.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Lan,” he said gently -far too gently.

Lan mumbled some kind of apology or thank you or some hybrid of the two, and escaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update #3254 on Lan's state of mind :  
> -Hugs feel great. Who knew?  
> -Anger? Who's angry? Nobody. He doesn't have an ounce of violence inside him, not even a droplet. He's not touchy about the subject either. Shut up. Denial's a really great river in Egypt.  
> -When you do things, people react. Can't they all just stop reacting? It's really annoying.  
> -Cullen especially should stop reacting. He's reacting all wrong.  
> -Dorian Talks Nice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is in the tags, but I think it might bear repeating : Lan isn't very mentally stable. I don't think this particular chapter is very upsetting, but as a warning for the rest of the story, his ptsd comes with anxiety, slight paranoia, depression, mood swings, panic attacks, and a myriad of small or bigger triggers. 
> 
> This is not a dark fic, and the main focus isn't really Lan's mental health, but there are some dark elements (I mean... fenris' backstory is very very far from happy and I am taking inspiration from it), so I just wanted to make sure everything was warned for.

Haven was crowded, but dwarves were a rare sight. So when Lan entered the Chantry a few days after Redcliffe and saw Josephine in a conversation with a dwarven woman, he stopped, curious. They were discussing lyrium shipment, something Lan hadn’t thought about. He didn’t know much about lyrium. He’d never used it, he’d never pulled on his magic hard enough to-... He paused with a frown and raised an arm, squinting at it as if he could see the lyrium lines through the fabric of his clothes.

“Huh,” he said quietly to himself. _Would_ he ever need lyrium? Solas said his markings were broken, but perhaps he could still tap into them in some way. He shivered slightly as he thought about Fenris and his brands that lit up on command. Whoever had marked Lan, had they tried to replicate Fenris’ experiment on a mage, expecting to get someone with an unlimited power supply?

Lan wrapped his arms around himself. Thinking about Fenris still made him feel vaguely ill. He hoped Solas was right, that his markings really were inert. He hoped he was going to need a lyrium potion one day.

When Lan looked back up, he met the vacant blue eyes of an elven mage. She stood motionless behind Mother Giselle. Her arms lax by her side, her face blank as an ancient statue. And on her forehead, a sunburst brand.

Lan felt the blood drain from his face. His eyes slowly slipped off the scarred flesh on her forehead, and met her gaze again.

> _Vacant green eyes, staring ahead, staring at nothing._
> 
> _He wants to shake her. He wants to slap her, scream at her. He wants her to react to something, anything. But she never does. She drools as he pulls a shirt over her head, as he brings food to her mouth, as he soothes the endless cuts on her body by conjuring a little ice on his palms and tries to ignore how pale she’s become._
> 
> _Sometimes the ice in his hands grows and sharpens, into a deadly point. He wonders if she knows, if she understands what’s happening to her. He wonders if she would want him to bury this point into her heart, if it would be a mercy._
> 
> _He never does. The ice always melts, and he sits on the floor next to her and holds her hand, hoping she doesn’t understand, that she hasn’t seen the pick in his hands and the hesitation on his face._

“--rald! Your worship!”

Lan startled with a gasp. Mother Giselle and Vivienne were crouched in front of him, Josephine looking anxious behind them as she fanned him with her papers, and the dwarven woman was hovering close by. Someone else was holding his back from behind.

“Are you all right?” Josephine asked, worry shining bright in her eyes. “You fainted -what happened? Is it the Mark?”

The Mark was utterly silent. The only thing aching was his head, and the ghost of pressure in his lyrium brands.

Vivienne put a hand on his forehead, looked at his eyes. “He seems shaken, but nothing looks amiss. How are you feeling, my dear?”

“I’m fine,” said Lan, suddenly greatly embarrassed. “I just- lost my bearings. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. Ambassador, if you could get him to your office...”

“Avexis,” asked the Mother, “please help him up.”

“Yes, Mother Giselle.”

The emotionless voice hit Lan like a bolt of lightning. The person behind him pulled him to his feet. Lan kept his eyes to the floor when he thanked her, and she answered in that same monotonous voice.

“You are welcome, Herald.”

Lan shivered. Josephine put a gentle hand on his arm and steered him toward her office where she made him sit.

“Stay here until you feel better,” she ordered, pouring him a glass of water.  

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He sipped absentmindedly, his gaze locked on the wall while his mind was elsewhere. The memory was still there. Sort of. He could tell it wasn’t whole, that whatever remained in his mind was not everything he had seen when he’d fainted. But there were two green eyes, staring at nothing. He didn’t have a face, a name, not even a noise. Just… two vacant green eyes.

He closed his own eyes, inviting the darkness to chase them away. Whose eyes were they? ...Did he want to know?

The door opened. He looked at Leliana and Vivienne, the latter taking the glass of water from Lan’s hands and pouring a green-ish powder in it.

“Drink this,” she said in a soft voice that Lan had never heard from her. “It will help settle your nerves.”

Lan immediately brought the drink to his lips. It tasted vile, but he’d take it if it meant calming his mind.

“Are you feeling all right?” Leliana asked. Lan nodded, his coiled muscles unwinding under the influence of Vivienne’s powder.

“The Herald had an encounter with Avexis,” explained Josephine.

“Who?” asked Lan.

“The tranquil.”

“Oh… oh no! No, it wasn’t because of her! She’s fine, it’s not her fault. It’s my fault.”

“Nobody is assigning blame,” said Vivienne. “Slow breaths, darling.”

Josephine nodded. “I simply realize tranquils are unsettling for a lot of people.”

“No,” said Lan quickly, “no, she didn’t upset me… or… I don’t know. I, um.” He fidgeted a little, putting the glass on the desk. “She didn’t upset me. The thing she had done to her is upsetting.”

“I understand,” said Leliana. “Have you never met a tranquil before?”

He shook his head. “I’ve heard of them. And they’re in Varric’s book.”

“Yes,” said Leliana slowly. “Kirkwall was less than gentle to their mages, and perhaps worse to their tranquils. The war is hard on them. Neither side seems to want them around.”

“The mages don’t want them?” asked Lan in surprise.

“They’re disturbed by their presence,” said Vivienne. “A lot of tranquils are left on their own with no protection nowadays.”

“No.”

Leliana frowned slightly. “No?”

“No, that can’t- we can’t allow that to happen, can we? Aren’t we supposed to protect people?”

“That is what we are trying to do, yes. But our resources are rather limited and I am unsure what you're asking us to do.”

“The mages will be here soon, we can ask them if they know tranquils who need help.” Lan glanced at Vivienne. “Would you know any…?”

“Not personally,” she said. “But I do know a few people who could help.”

“Then we can bring them here. Or, maybe we can declare all tranquils to be under our protection. Can’t we? If nobody wants them, it shouldn’t make a lot of people angry...”

The three women stared at him. Lan bit his cheek. Had he said something stupid? ...No, that wasn’t stupid. That couldn’t be stupid.

“We can’t pretend to be a force for good when these people are being left to die! They can’t defend themselves! It’s-” Terrifying. “It’s not right. We just can’t leave them.”

“I will call for a meeting to the war room,” said Leliana. A small smile was gracing her lips. “We will discuss the issue and see what we can do.”

Lan blinked at her. “Really?”

“Of course, your Worship. Your opinions have as much weight here as anyone else’s and you bring up compelling arguments. This will be addressed.”

Josephine had a thoughtful look on her face. “I do believe declaring tranquils to be under the Inquisition’s protection is doable, in theory. It would mean an influx of them to Haven, however… Well, we will discuss this in more detail with Cassandra and Cullen’s help. Leliana, did you want to talk to me…?”

“Actually, I wanted to see everyone here. Your Worship, a little bird told me about an idea of yours, to distribute Lady Vivienne’s draughts to the poorest among our ranks.”

Lan straightened on the chair. “Now?”

“Why not? Everyone concerned is present. If you are feeling up to it...”

Vivienne crossed her arms elegantly over her pristine white robe.

“Do you need my services, my dear?”

He scrambled to gather his thoughts, pull his mind away from upsetting green eyes to bring himself back to the present. Vivienne listened patiently.

“You do have several servants within these walls who are visibly sick,” she said once Lan had finished stumbling over his own words.

“Most of them send their salaries home,” said Josephine. “Back to their families. They don’t have the money to pay for healers, and we are struggling to provide our one alchemist with enough ingredients.”

“And we cannot allow that to stand,” said Vivienne with a nod. “It will reflect very badly on the Inquisition if word gets out that your staff is miserable. I do have a few connections, people who could help us get a steady supply of free healing draughts in exchange for a few favors…”

Lan tried to follow the exchange, but it quickly veered toward economics and politics, and most of that went completely over his head. His eyes travelled to the papers on Josephine’s desk, one of which was covered in numbers Lan had no idea how to read. Salaries? Maybe. He should ask her to pay Dorian as well.

When they finally broke this impromptu meeting, Lan felt a lot steadier, and Avexis wasn’t in the hall anymore.

* * *

 War room meetings had never been Lan’s favorite, and they were steadily getting worse.

Solas was adjusting his plan for the Breach, and everything he said about it filled Lan with dread. There was already so much power in that thing, now Solas wanted to add even more, overload it until it collapsed. Hopefully, the mages would be able to contain the excess energy and it would close without taking anything -or anyone- else with it. _Hopefully_.

Rifts were being tracked, including those opening in the middle of villages, resulting in many deaths before the Inquisition could do anything about it. Money and equipment was moved around -which made various people varying degrees of angry, and they complained to Lan about it as if he was solely responsible.

An Orlesian, and then a Fereldan noble stopped by, and Lan did his best but he knew he was a complete disaster at following etiquette or appearing respectable. It seemed Sera was right -he was scared of nobles, in some way. All he wanted to do when they talked to him was disappear in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again. At least the Orlesians wore those masks, which Lan found both perplexing and ridiculous enough to make him feel less intimidated.

Mages were pouring in, from Redcliffe and elsewhere as word of the Inquisition’s pledge to protect them travelled the land, and soon it became quite apparent that nobody knew where to put them all.

Talks about the tranquils only added to the workload, and with the Inquisition’s resources stretched as they were, nothing was being accomplished.

A week of this, and Lan found himself very seriously considering biting the next person who came to him with a problem. Josephine would have a heart attack, but it would make him feel a lot better. 

As evening settled over Haven, he dragged himself over to Varric’s hovel and opened the door without knocking. The dwarf was busy tinkering with Bianca’s entrails, tiny, intricate tools scattered across his very narrow desk. He looked over his shoulder as Lan entered.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days. Everything going your way, Herald?”

Lan walked over, then sat down on the ground. It didn’t feel low enough yet, so he lied down instead, curling up on his side with his back against the wall. Better.

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Varric.

“Why am I staying here?” Lan grumbled.

“You want to help all the poor souls affected by the Breach,” suggested Varric. He accidentally elbowed one of his tiny tools off the desk.

“Hmm.” Lan picked it up and handed it back to Varric. “No, that’s not it.”

“Thanks. What else, then?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go and Cassandra’s here. I think she’s the only reason nobody’s tried to fry me to death yet.”

“Aha. The mages are still angry, then?”

Lan groaned. “They’re scattered all over town and they don’t like it, they feel exposed. And the Commander hates not being able to keep an eye on all of them, as if they’re going to explode into abominations if he turns his back.” Lan buried his head in his hand. “Nobody’s happy and everyone thinks it’s my fault.”

Varric chuckled, and Lan’s mood soured even more. He wanted the dwarf to commiserate, not mock him.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re discovering all the fun and excitement of living in a big community. People always hate each other and nobody is ever satisfied. Isn’t that great?”

“No.”

Varric looked at him again, and his smile widened. “You know, sometimes I wonder what Fenris would say if he saw his double defending the mages’ honor so passionately.”

Lan bristled. Why was Varric bringing him up _now_? The last thing Lan wanted today was to think about Fenris. That meant thinking about his markings, about his memories, about the unidentified spell that coursed through him, about the pain, about-- those unseeing green eyes that still haunted him.

A feeling of betrayal rose within him, too quickly to stop it. His mind took a sharp turn, toward something dark, prickly. Angry.

He sat up. “Varric!”

“What?” asked Varric, taken aback by Lan’s sudden mood change. “I’m not allowed to talk about him anymore?”

“I’m not his double. I’m not his twin, I’m not him!”

“I never said you were him,” said Varric, but his soothing tone only annoyed Lan further. “I’m just--”

“You keep doing it!” Lan bellowed.

Varric sighed. “You have a surprisingly loud voice when you want to.”

His apparent nonchalance fueled the anger rushing through Lan. He got to his feet, bitterness burning on his tongue.

“All you think about when we talk is that you miss your friends.”

Varric looked at him strangely. “That’s not true--”

“Do you only like me because I look like him?”

“Where are you getting that from--”

“Stop lying.”

Varric marked a short pause. “You’re really in a mood, huh.”

“I just don’t want to hear about him anymore!” shouted Lan.

“And then what?” asked Varric, getting angry himself. “You ignore he exists?”

“I’m not here so you can feel less sad that your friends left you!”

Varric said nothing. He looked at Lan a moment, squinting a little. The silence around them turned cold, and Lan crossed his arms on his chest -in defence or defiance, he wasn’t sure.

“Are you finished?” asked Varric once Lan had taken a few deep breaths. “I don’t know where that whole thing came from, but it’s a load of shit. I’ve never thought of you as anyone but yourself. Seriously? That’s what you think of me? That I’m using you like some Fenris puppet because I’m too sad?”

Lan said nothing, but his teeth were clenched, as were his fists, and Varric could clearly see it. The dwarf shook his head and headed to the door.

“And yes, I do think quite a lot about how much you two look like each other, but that’s because I worry about what it means. For you and for him. If you want to keep pretending it doesn’t mean anything, I can’t help you.” He opened the door. “See if someone else is available to hear about how much I mistreat you. And learn to control your voice, my ears are ringing.”

Lan’s heart slammed against his ribcage. His mind went blank, even as his feet walked him to the door, and then through. He heard the door close behind him, and then his mind started spinning.

Gasping through short breaths, Lan wrapped his arms around his middle. What had just happened? What had he done? What was wrong with him? Why had he said that to Varric? He knew the dwarf was sad about his friends. He had helped Lan since the beginning without ever asking for anything in return. Why be cruel to him all of a sudden? This made no sense!

Lan started walking one way, then stopped and went the other way, then stopped again. Varric hated him now. Lan had one friend in this Inquisition and he had just lost him.

“Ah, Herald. I was looking for you… ”

Lan startled and looked up sharply. Solas frowned at him.

“Are you all right?”

Lan blinked at the elf. He opened his mouth to answer but a sudden wave of nausea climbed up his throat and he had to clamp his jaws shut to avoid releasing it. He nodded instead, even as his breathing caught in his chest.

Solas looked at him dubiously. “I was hoping to look at your markings, it has been a while since our last--… are you certain everything is fine?”

Lan ran away.

He ran out of the village, past the stakewall and past the training grounds. He reached the frozen lake and walked out on it without really knowing why. He just wanted to move. What was he going to do now? Varric hated him and everyone liked Varric. Everyone was going to hate Lan. And it would be deserved. He was a horrible friend.

He crouched down, hiding his face into his knees. He rocked back and forth, feeling tears burn his eyes without falling. His breathing refused to slow down.

Stupid _idiot_. Why had he ever opened his mouth? What a blighted flaming moron he was. He had to fix this. He had no idea how to fix this. He had to calm down. He had no idea how to calm down. What was wrong with him? Could he apologize? It wouldn’t work. He could run away. And go where? None of this made sense. Oh Creators, he had to calm down...

“Pointy.”

Lan stilled, completely. Even his breathing stopped. He didn’t move a muscle, curled up on himself on this icy lake.

“Hey, Pointy. Come on. I’m not stepping onto this lake, I’m ten times heavier than you are. Hey! Look at me, would you?”

Lan’s head snapped up at the order. His eyes met Varric’s, standing just at the edge of the lake, frowning at him in the dim light of a late evening.

“Maker’s sweet cheeks, you’re a mess,” said Varric quietly. “If you drop through this ice I’m not fishing you out. Dwarves sink.”

“It’s frozen solid,” Lan heard himself reply.

“So you think. What are you doing?”

“I… I don’t... know.”

That response did not please Varric. “Get your ass over here!”

Lan scrambled to his feet and hurried across the ice, but he was going too fast and slipped just at Varric’s feet, landing on all fours before him.

He stayed like this, head bowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t start with that,” said Varric a little sharply. “Get up. I don’t want you to grovel at my feet, for Andraste’s sake. Just get up.”

But Lan wasn’t sure he could. Instead he sat on his haunches.

“All right,” said Varric. “You need to calm down, Pointy. Seriously.”

“I know,” mumbled Lan. “I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know why I said all that, I didn’t mean it, I don’t want you to leave and I’m really sorry-”

“Stop.” Varric put a hand on his shoulder. Its warmth immediately sunk into Lan’s frozen skin. “Hey. Stop that. You’re fine, all right? I’m not angry with you.”

Lan looked up. “You’re… not?”

“Well... I was,” admitted Varric. “But that’s hard to maintain when you’re looking like that. You know what, those puppy eyes are not something Fenris ever had.”

Lan bit his lips, mostly to stop them from trembling. Varric sighed.

“Pointy… look. You got on my nerves, putting words in my mouth and inventing your own problems. So I figured I’d give you a moment to cool down a little. But apparently that’s not how you work. Don’t bow your head,” ordered Varric, and Lan’s head snapped back up. Varric sighed. “Really? Not even an hour without the dwarf and you panic? Not that I’m not flattered but you need some perspective, my friend.”

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Lan said, almost in a whisper.

“I don’t hate you! Maker’s balls. You _annoyed me_ , you didn’t set Bianca on fire and danced on her ashes!”

“But I said--... I hurt you!”

Varric snorted. “Oh, come on. You didn’t say anything that bad. So you’re a bit of a melodramatic idiot with a temper -I’ve survived worse friendships. You’re fine.”

“You made me leave…”

“Yeah. Obviously not my brightest idea,” said Varric quietly, as if to himself. “I thought you were going to take a walk and calm down, not forget how to function and run away in the snow. Maker’s balls…”

Varric rubbed a hand down his face. He was slightly paler than usual, his eyes slightly wider -he was worried. Shame crept into Lan’s cheeks, heating them in the evening cold.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” said Varric. “Just listen to me : you’re an idiot, but that’s fine. You pissed me off, and that’s fine too. Doesn’t mean I’ll start hating you. There’s other feelings between love and hate, in case you weren’t aware. So now you take a deep breath, and stop making mountains out of nothing.”

Lan nodded. “I’m still sorry. And I won’t stop you from talking about… about Fenris. I understand why you do.”

“Good, because ignoring him isn’t helping. And I’m sorry too, if I ever made you feel like I didn’t see you as yourself. I do.” Varric patted his shoulder, laughing a little. “I don’t know anyone else who’d panic that much at the mere idea of not seeing me for a while. People are usually relieved when I leave. Now... can you get up?”

Lan started getting back to his feet, before changing his mind and kneeling in the snow, and wrapping Varric into a hug. Varric stiffened briefly, but he gave in with a sigh.

“You’re fine, kid. I don’t hate you. I know you’re stressed, I know you didn’t mean any of that.” Lan tightened his hold a little and Varric patted him on the back. “Chuckles likes you, by the way. I hope you’re proud.”

Lan released his embrace. “What?”

“He said he saw you walk out of my cabin looking weird and then you bolted when he tried to talk to you. He even followed you until you stopped on that lake. I think he was worried you were running away… then he saw you freak out and decided this was not his thing and he better get me instead. But still, he was genuinely worried. I think we should at least drop by to tell him you’re not frozen solid... ” Varric observed Lan for a little while. “ _Were_ you trying to run away? Or do… something else? Why did you stop here?”

“I don’t know,” said Lan sincerely. “I was just- uh... panicking.”

“No kidding.” Varric took his elbow and pulled him along. “Come on. Did you eat tonight? We’ll stop by the tavern, I’ll buy you something warm and you can tell me more about your Heraldy woes. Sera’ll probably want to join, if you’re okay with that…”

Lan followed Varric back to Haven and its warm lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... yeah. Lan does not know how to control his emotions. And then he scared the shit out of Varric.
> 
> ... I've been editing this chapter over and over and over again. I think I managed to write something coherent...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lan experiences the joys of the Fallow Mire, and then the joys of training with Dorian.

The Fallow Mire was a dreadful place, filled with undead, murderous Avvar who abducted Inquisition soldiers for a kick, the remains of a (fingers crossed?) long gone plague, and enough rain to drown if you stayed still for too long.

The Fallow Mire was also made worse by Sera and Solas discovering their formidable hatred for each other’s life choices. This was the first time Lan went on an important mission without Varric ; it was strangely daunting, to take steps without the dwarf to gently nudge him in the right direction. He’d hoped Sera’s company would make him feel better, but… well.

When she wasn’t freaking out over the undead, she was bickering with Solas. She tried to drag Lan into it, declaring he wasn’t elf-y and thus should be on her side. She was right, sort of. Lan found Solas’ knowledge of everything elven fascinating, but he didn’t see the point of poking Sera with it. He’d never felt linked to elves as a whole -he’d never felt linked to anyone or anything, he hadn’t consented to having pointy ears... But he also didn’t want to argue, so he escaped and walked with the Chargers instead.

Iron Bull had offered his company’s services upon hearing they were going to fight a big guy with a thirst for blood. It seemed nothing would give him more pleasure than bringing that guy down a peg or two. By taking off his head. 

The Chargers were a nice bunch. They talked loudly and they talked freely, but they didn’t seem to mind when Lan kept quiet and simply listened. The Bull called him “Boss” and his company followed his lead, looking to Lan for orders. Not that he had much to say beside “let’s go” and “let’s rest”.

The wandering bodies weren’t a great addition to the list of things who wanted to kill Lan, but they were easy to deal with, which Lan found slightly weird.

“You’ve been fighting demons for some time, your Worship,” remarked Krem when Lan shared his thoughts. “That’s got to harden you a little, doesn’t it?”

“But they’re people. They… were people,” Lan corrected.

“There you go. They aren’t anymore.”

Lan shrugged. He didn’t feel hardened. Just… annoyed. Annoyed that he had to fight constantly.

They reached their destination in the middle of the night. Shambling corpses blocked the gates to the castle -a whole lot of them. Lan observed them from a distance for a moment.

“We need to get in,” he said quietly. “We have to get to the hostages before the Avvar get tired of them…”

“Are we going, then?” asked Bull.

“We’re outnumbered at least five to one. And the humans can’t see in the dark.”

“We can see well enough,” said Krem. “The night’s not that dark.”

“Your choice, Boss.”

Of course it was his choice. Lan gritted his teeth together.

“Let’s go.”

The undead turned as one as the Inquisition ran toward them, and Lan suddenly realized 'five to one' had been very generous. It was closer to ten to one, and more corpses were now rising out of the water surrounding the castle.

Solas wielded fire well enough to incinerate them, but he was the only one. The rest of the party was forced to scatter through the enemy, trying to clear a path to the gates. Lan cast barriers over everyone he could see but the confusion of so many twitching bodies meant he missed a few.

A ripple of energy from behind him made him whirl around. A corpse had tried to get him and had been zapped away by his barrier. Instead it landed at Krem’s feet and immediately wrapped its decaying hands around the man’s ankles. Krem stumbled and fell. A dozen corpses pounced on him. Lan let out a wordless cry and threw one of his feeble fireballs at the mass of wiggling dead flesh but it wasn’t enough. Krem was pulled away and into the foul water.

“BULL!” hollered Lan as he started running. He tried casting a barrier around Krem but he couldn’t aim, not with so many corpses on him.

More hands and weapons tried to pierce through his barrier without success. He used his staff to trip a few unsteady corpses, sent ice to the rest without looking. The water was distressingly cold but Lan didn’t stop, throwing his staff back on the shore to free his movements as he waded in. Krem had just disappeared under the surface. He couldn’t let one of them die, not when they called him ‘boss’, not when he ordered the attack, damn it!

He was quickly submerged to his stomach, teeth chattering. ‘I don’t know how to swim’, he thought frantically even as he charged forward. ‘I don’t know how to swim!’

A living arm broke the surface and Lan jumped for it, softening his barrier so it didn’t zap Krem away from him. His hand closed around a wrist and he pulled, but his thin arms were no match for a waterlogged armor and several corpses clinging to him, and his feet were slipping on the muddy floor. Desperate, he focused his magic on his feet and froze the mud around them. He was now stuck but at least he could pull on Krem, and managed to bring the man’s head above the water. Krem coughed and hacked but he was alive. Lan cast a barrier around him, forcing the undead to release their hold on his armor.

A shadow fell over them. The Bull grabbed Lan and Krem in each hand and hauled them both out of the water.

“Gotcha!” said the Bull. “Skinner, heads up!”

And then Lan was flying through the air. He landed back in the water with a heavy splash, but another hand reached for him and dragged him to his feet. Skinner pulled them back toward the shore. 

A flaming arrow whizzed past. Lan turned to see it lodge itself into an undead who’d been reaching out for him. Further in the water the Bull was throwing undead left and right and slowly dragging himself out.

“Inside! Quickly!” shouted Solas once everyone’s feet were on solid ground.

They ran through the gates. Solas made a wall of fire while Sera threw herself at a crank on the wall, and the portcullis lowered. It hit the ground with a thunk, trapping the undead on the other side.

A slight silence passed, only disturbed by gasping breaths and Krem coughing up water.

“That was exciting,” said Krem breathlessly. “Let’s never do that again.”

“I hate this!” shouted Sera. “Why are there so many of them?”

“Can’t kill undead,” said Rocky. “Unless you blow them up or burn them to a crisp.”

“How are we going to get out?” asked Skinner. “Those bastards will be waiting for us on our way back.”

“If we get this castle from the Avvar,” said Lan, “we can wait inside until daylight. It’s easier in daylight, right?”

“It will certainly be easier to plan,” said Solas. “I can put up fire walls from here, it will give me enough time to set up wards along the shore. We will be able to cross if we are fast enough, and reach a less… busy area.”

Lan nodded. “Sera and Dalish could cover you with flaming arrows… and uh, me too...” His fireballs still had to actually kill anything. He could make a fire wall or two.

“You all right?” asked Sera, approaching Krem.

“Fine. Just swallowed putrid plague-ridden miasma.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lan, wincing. “I threw that undead at you.”

“Yeah? Well, I can’t be mad at you when you dove in after me, your Worship.”

They didn’t have time to do much else. The sounds of battle had been heard loud and clear, and the Avvar had taken the opportunity to organize an ambush. Four of them jumped in, detaching themselves from the shadows. Solas shoved Lan’s staff into his hands and another battle started. Lan was tired, and drenched, but he didn’t have much choice. The Chargers didn’t seem all that tired. Even Krem got into it, and the Bull was overjoyed.

For all their boasting, the Avvar weren’t very fierce opponents. The Inquisition managed to get further into the castle, and finally found the Chief waiting for them. He bellowed a challenge to Lan, promising to kill the so-called Herald himself.

“What a nice change of pace,” grumbled Lan.

It made Bull laugh, which was always an odd sight. And the Qunari continued to laugh as they fought the Avvar, apparently greatly amused by those people’s zealous attempts to kill him. After fighting off a hundred corpses, a few armored men did not faze him in the slightest. He got the killing blow easily enough.

Lan stared at the bleeding corpse as Solas conjured fire to burn the remains.

“Don’t stare at him,” said Krem. “Doesn’t deserve your pity, he just tried to kill you.”

Lan nodded silently, but he wasn’t pitying the Avvar. He wasn’t feeling anything in particular for that man.

It wasn’t that long ago that he’d refused to kill Templars, even as they came at him with sharpened swords. He could clearly remember feeling intense disgust every time blood splashed on him, being unsettled by a dead man’s eyes staring at him. Why wasn’t it happening anymore? And why… didn’t he care all that much?

“Been fighting for some time,” he mumbled to himself, staring at the fire devouring the Avvar. “That’s gotta harden me a little…”

The smell of roasting flesh, however, made his stomach twist. He turned away.

They found their missing soldiers, then found a place in the abandoned castle to wait for daylight. Lan made sure no one was badly injured, and smiled as the soldiers thanked him and professed their faith in him. He was getting good at that. Smiling like he understood.

Then he sat as close to the campfire as he dared, and mournfully contemplated the fact that his clothes were never going to dry before dawn.

> _‘Where were you?’_
> 
> _‘I found one!’_

Lan startled. Memory? Now? Why? He grunted and put his head in his hands, waiting for the unpleasant sensation to disappear.

> _’So… You found a glowy corpse.’_
> 
> _‘He was in a body pit. But he’s alive.’_
> 
> _‘... Doesn’t look like it.’_
> 
> _‘Look at him, he’s glowing!’_

“Shut up,” Lan groaned.

> _‘Yeah, that’s not a good sign, Qalaba.’_
> 
> _‘He was in this weird bubble, it kept the fire away, and he’s all glowing. He’s a mage!’_
> 
> _‘Obviously. He’s also obviously some ‘Vint’s experiment.’_
> 
> _‘But they threw him away.’_
> 
> _‘Then they have a good reason to want him dead. Put him back.’_
> 
> _‘I’m not putting him back in the fire!’_
> 
> _‘Qalaba wants a pet.’_
> 
> _‘I don’t! We’re looking for a mage.’_
> 
> _‘A real one. Not a dying slave.’_
> 
> _‘But he stopped the bubble-thing when I talked to him. He’s kinda aware. Can we try? I’ll take care of him, you won’t have to do anything.’_
> 
> _‘Told you! Qalaba wants a pet.’_
> 
> _‘It’s not a pet thing!’_
> 
> _‘Do whatever you want, Qalaba, but if he brings us trouble I’ll set him on fire myself.’_
> 
> _‘Yeah… That’s fair.’_

“Shut up!”

“Haven’t said anything, yet.”

Lan looked up. Stitches, Krem and Sera had approached him while he was having his fit, and they were now looking at him a little oddly.

“...Sorry." Lan brought his hands to his temples.

“Got a headache, your Worship?” guessed Krem.

“Sort of.”

Stitches pulled out a small vial from one of the pouches on his belt.  

“It’ll help,” he promised, handing it to Lan.

“Thank you.”

“Anything else, beside that headache? Drank any of that water?”

“Oh. I think I’m fine. But Krem...”

“I’m all right,” said Krem with a nod. “Thanks to you.”

“I didn’t help much. Bull pulled us out.”

“You got those undead to let go and you brought me back up. That helped. So thanks.” He extended a hand.

Lan looked at it a second, before he reached out and took it. Krem’s handshake was simple, but his hand was warm, and Lan offered him a small smile.

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

Krem snorted. “So am I. Didn’t really fancy dying surrounded by corpses.”

“Ugh,” spat Sera. She plopped down beside Lan. “I hate this shite. I came here to stick an arrow up a big man’s arse, not to see so many dead people walk around like there’s a nice festival going on.”

“Maybe there is,” mused Krem. “An undead festival we don’t know about.”

“Oh great. Bet the food they serve is all rotten and full of worms.”

“The songs must be great.”

“Undead songs,” snickered Sera. She then proceeded to demonstrate what she expected that to sound like, until Lan slapped a hand over her mouth.

The rest of the Chargers, followed by the soldiers, joined them around the fire. The night was cold, but Lan didn’t mind. Thoughts of the dead Avvars quickly fled from his mind as the Bull passed a flask around and tongues loosened. The Chargers started reminiscing about that time they went giant-hunting, Lan paid rapt attention.

* * *

 At Haven, soldiers and mages kept training under Cullen’s supervision. Lan watched them quietly from a distance as often as possible. One woman could make an impressive fireball, Lan paid her particular attention.

One morning found two very young mages sparring alone while the Commander was busy in the Chantry. Lan wondered if that had been sanctioned, before a spell went awry and was suddenly flying right at an unsuspecting soldier.

Lan threw a barrier on pure instinct. The soldier yelped, but the lightning bolt hit the barrier and was absorbed harmlessly.

“Sorry!” cried out the mage. “Sorry! I’m really sorry!”

“You little shit!” shouted another soldier -Martin, Lan’s horse instructor. “Were you aiming for him?”

“No, of course not!”

“That would have killed him!”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Martin sneered. The mage tensed, bringing up his staff. The spectators all took a step back. Lan looked around but the Commander wasn’t in sight. Shit. He had to do someth--

“Now now, what’s the problem here?” Dorian walked, somewhat lazily, in the middle of the fray.

“Nothing that concerns you, Tevinter,” growled Martin.

“He was going to attack me!” whined the mage.

“You attacked first!”

“How about,” said Dorian, “you both turn around and walk away, and don’t spoil everyone else’s morning? I’m sure both Commander Cullen and Grand Enchanter Fiona would appreciate it.”

Martin squared his shoulders menacingly. “Don’t think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m merely making a suggestion, you don’t need to puff up like an angry cat.” The soldier was turning red, but Dorian was unruffled. “I may not have authority over you, but the Herald of Andraste does.” Dorian’s eyes settled on Lan. “We don’t want him to tell your Commander you’ve been bad, do we?”

Soldier and mage both turned toward Lan, along with the few people who had been watching the scene, and suddenly they were all very eager to be on their best behavior. The mage apologized, tight-lipped, the soldier accepted it, everyone else went back to their morning routine.

Lan turned around to leave, but hurried footsteps stopped him. Dorian appeared by his side, just as Cullen ran past them. He must have heard the commotion. He threw them a glance as he went, but didn’t stop them.

Dorian was smirking. “You are really something else, Herald.”

“You did all that, not me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about your ability to stop fights. Those two are nothing but children, really, a cuff on the ear would have sufficed. No, I am talking about the barrier you threw over that poor unsuspecting soldier.”

“What about it?”

“Well, you see, I was watching too, and I wanted to give that man some protection before he could lose his eyebrows. I started casting, when suddenly -boom! Another barrier came in and annulled mine, dispersed it as if it were made of fluffy summer clouds. My magic is many things, but it is certainly not fluffy summer clouds. I would be offended if I wasn’t quite so impressed.”

Lan frowned at him. “I dispelled your barrier?”

“And you didn’t even notice!” lamented Dorian. “Now I am actually a little offended…”

“I just… used a strong barrier. Maybe you didn’t put as much power in yours, that’s all.”

“I certainly didn’t,” said Dorian, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know enough about barriers, which is a failing on my part. I don’t like having failings. So I’ll offer you a deal, Herald : you tell me about your barriers, and in exchange, I’ll tell you how to make fireballs as pretty as the ones you’ve been lusting after.”

“What? How did you-”

“Today is not the first day I’ve been watching the mages train,” said Dorian easily. “This place is so dull, it’s either that or the tavern. I’ve seen you inspecting firespells, Lan, and I am sorry to say your face is an open book.”

Lan rubbed his arms. “I don’t know enough offensive magic.”

“I would think not, considering how much power you put into defensive magic,” replied Dorian as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You must have trained for years to reach that level of stability and strength.”

“For years?” Lan frowned at his own feet, his mind suddenly thrown back into time. He’d barely used his magic at all when he was with the Lavellans.

“What? If you tell me you were born with that knowledge, I’ll have to give up magic right now.”

“Huh, no. No. I trained for years.” Probably. Could he have trained for years back in Tevinter? “But I don’t know how to teach... anything.”

“I am both a very quick learner and a very diligent student. I’m sure you and I can manage. So, what do you say? You’ll learn faster with me than by leering at the mages from a distance.”

Dorian sounded earnest. Well, Dorian always sounded earnest. His eyes were sparkling with curiosity, and Lan couldn’t really tell him no.

“When?”

A bright smile stretched Dorian’s lips. “This afternoon? I have something to take care of this morning.”

“Sure. Uh… I’ll meet you here after lunch?”

“Perfect. See you then!”

Lan watched the Tevinter walk away, his various buckles shining under the timid sun. He shook himself and went to seek Josephine to make sure he had nothing planned this afternoon.

* * *

It didn’t take very long for Lan to understand what Dorian had meant. As he studied the barrier Dorian cast over himself, he found it lacking. In what exactly, he wasn’t sure, but it felt feeble, brittle. As a test, Lan cast his own over it, and was quite surprised to see Dorian’s simply evaporate.

Dorian huffed. “You’re toying with me.” He lowered his staff, which sported a brand new blade on one end. Josephine had found a way to pay him, then.

“Sorry! I just wanted to see.”

Dorian tsk’ed. He looked annoyed. Offended, almost.

“That’s your strongest barrier, isn’t it?”

“Well… the strongest I can cast on other people,” said Lan. “I can do better if I anchor them on myself.”

“Hmm... In that case, could you try a weaker one?”

Lan cast it over himself. Dorian, his brow furrowed in thought, circled him slowly. A zap of electricity rippled along its surface, followed by a quick flash of light that briefly blinded Lan.

“What are you--”

“It’s nothing dangerous,” promised Dorian. “Just trying to find a chink. Can I try something else? You will need to stay very still so I know exactly where I’m aiming.”

“I... guess…”

Power erupted around Lan. He froze in fear and surprise, but it was already over. Just a brief surge of very cold magic, there and gone. Lan’s barrier was still standing.

“What was that!”

“Necromantic energy,” said Dorian. “I aimed it at your barrier, don’t worry. It wouldn’t have touched you even if it had broken through.”

“Necr-… you know that?”

“I dabble,” said Dorian distractedly. Something was really bothering him. “I wanted to see how your ‘weak’ barrier stands against something meant to drain energy. I didn’t mean to startle you…”

Lan glared. “You could have warned me.”

“I could have,” said Dorian, “but I didn’t want you to panic.”

“Or say no,” guessed Lan. “You’re annoyed because I beat you at something, aren’t you.”

“Am I?” Lan scowled harder, and Dorian broke out in a grin, eyes crinkling in amusement. “All right, maybe a little. I _really_ wanted that spell to collapse your barrier. I apologize. Here.” He cast a barrier around himself. “I give you permission to hit me. Have your revenge, Herald.”

“Why? My attack spells will never break through.”

“Ah… You can always hit me over the head with your staff.”

Lan raised an arm, showing off his lack of muscles. “That’s worse.”

Dorian was still smirking. “Try one of your weaker barriers, then.”

Lan did. Once more, his barrier replaced Dorian’s like it was nothing.

“Kaffas,” grumbled Dorian as he lost his smile. “That’s very uncomfortable, you know that? Physically, I mean. Although my ego is taking a beating as well.”

It was Lan’s turn to smirk. “Can you do another one?”

Dorian had not lied when he said he was a quick learner. Lan was obviously lacking the proper, scholarly vocabulary to explain how his spells worked, but Dorian understood nonetheless. The Tevinter’s barriers quickly gained in strength, though to his definite frustration, Lan could still dispel them easily.

Lan was not quite as quick. When they finally gave up on the barriers and went on to the fire, he ended up burning his own fingers.

“You put too much into it,” scolded Dorian as he took Lan’s hand and cast a cool wave over the burns. “Fire is powerful on its own, it doesn’t need to be bolstered like your barriers. What it needs is control, and you cannot control it if you’re too busy pouring all your mana into it.”

Lan apologized under his breath. He hadn’t done that on purpose. He had no idea where the just middle was between his usual fireballs and the ball of raw power which had just singed his fingertips. Dorian spoke of mana as if he knew exactly how much he used at all times. Lan hadn’t a clue.

They practiced some more, this time focusing on taming the flow of energy. After a little while, Dorian stopped talking, just looking at him with a slight frown.

“Did you take any lyrium?” he asked eventually while Lan, tongue poking out, was doing his best to convince the fire in his palm that melting his skin off was a bad idea.

Lan almost lost his concentration. “No.”

“Aren’t you feeling tired?”

“A little. There’s bits of energy wrapping around my hand, is that normal?”

“Yes, let them. Lan, we’ve been practicing for two hours. I’m tired, and I’m me. You’ve been using enough magic to annul my barriers several times, and you’re not tired?”

Lan looked at Dorian, fire shining in his palm.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel fine.”

“Yes, I can see that. How can I still sense that much energy in you after all this time?”

“Uh... you can sense my energy?”

“You can do it too, it’s not a difficult trick,” said Dorian, lifting an eyebrow. “And there’s a lot pouring out of you. That’s not even your full power, is i it?”

Lan gaped stupidly. He had no idea how to answer that, but Dorian was lost in his own thoughts and wasn’t really waiting for an answer.

“That’s what Alexius felt,” he muttered to himself, squinting at Lan. “That’s what made him act so quickly, isn’t it? He felt that pool of power. Where does it come from?”

“Nowhere!”

“Where did you study? How come you don’t know the most basic magic theory? The Dalish aren’t stupid, they have a tight grasp on their magic. I know that much.”

Lan’s heart thudded hard in his chest. “I-I… I didn’t… I didn’t study.”

“Then how did you learn? Don’t tell me it’s actually innate, I won’t believe you.”

“I didn’t-I…”

“The only thing that could allow you to cast for so long without depleting your mana pool is blood magic.”

“What?! No! I-- OW!”

The forgotten tendrils of energy around his palm suddenly tightened their hold. The fire roared and Lan scrambled to get a hold of it but his instincts only had him releasing more mana. His entire hand was engulfed and the fire kept spreading. Lan brought his marked hand over it to dispel it--

The tendrils of energy tried to burrow into the Mark. It flared in response, angry and raw. A lightning bolt of pain coursed through Lan’s tattoos, before the dispel finally worked.

The fire disappeared. The Mark calmed down. Lan panted, blinked, left hand curled into a claw.

“Lan?” Dorian was standing right in front of him, hands reaching out but stopped in mid-air, hesitant to touch. “Lan, are you--ah…”

Dorian’s eyes widened suddenly and he stumbled, right into Lan who barely had enough strength to hold himself up. They fell into the snow.

“Dorian?” The man was conscious but stayed motionless, sprawled on top of Lan and stiff as a board. “What’s going on? Dorian!”

“A smite.” Lan startled as the Commander, cheeks flushed from running in the cold, appeared next to him, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “A rather brutal one.”

Lan was suddenly very aware of about twenty pairs of eyes watching the scene, wide and dazed. Dorian groaned. Lan wrapped an arm around him, trying to keep him still so everyone’s attention stayed on Cullen.

The Commander’s eyes narrowed on one of the soldiers. Martin, and this time he had his sword out of its sheath, though it was pointed uselessly at the ground as he cringed under his Commander’s stare.

“Soldier,” Cullen snapped. “Report.”

Martin stood ramrod straight. “The-the Tevinter seemed to be hurting the Herald with magic, Commander. I only-”

“You only acted before thinking,” interrupted Cullen. “If you had used your head you would have noticed ‘the Tevinter’ wasn’t doing anything and all the energy came only from the Herald.”

“I… I apologize, Commander.”

“Not to me.” The Commander turned to Lan and Dorian, who was slowly picking himself up. Lan jumped up and steadied him on his feet. “Are you two all right?”

“Fine,” said Dorian, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m fine. Simply not used to it. Lan?”

Lan was staring at Martin. “You can feel that? That Dorian wasn’t hurting me?”

“If he’d cared to find out before acting, yes, he would have known,” said the Commander.

“So you just silenced him because he’s Tevinter.”

Martin seemed to freeze. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, but Lan was past caring about excuses.

“That man is as much part of the Inquisition as you are. The same goes for every mage here.”

“Your Worship, I-”

“Do not interrupt, soldier,” barked the Commander.

Lan suddenly felt very hot. “You can’t silence every mage you see fit without a care! If you’re here you’ve pledged to protect everyone, including mages, including Tevinter mages who are helping us, and if you can’t keep yourself in check around them you are free to leave. The rogue templars will welcome you with open arms!”

Martin stammered, stumbled over his own words, before coughing out an apology toward Dorian.

Dorian waved it away. “No harm done, except to my pride.”

“Yes, harm done!” said Lan. “This time it’s just a smite, what about next time? He had his sword out!” He turned back to the soldier. “You don’t attack members of the Inquisition!”

“No, your Worship. Understood, your Worship. It will never happen again.”

“You are dismissed, soldier,” said the Commander. “Stay in your tent. I don’t want to see you again until I come to get you.” Martin bowed and left as quickly as his legs could carry him. “Everyone else, back to work! The show’s over!”

The twenty pairs of eyes had grown to thirty during Lan’s speech. At Cullen’s order the crowd turned around as one and was dispersed in a matter of seconds.

“What happened?” Cullen turned back to Dorian and Lan. “Why is this the second time I see sparks flying over the stakewall today and why do both involve you two?”

Lan flinched before the Commander’s anger. He shouldn’t have let that spell get out of control, shouldn’t have given that templar an opportunity. He was about to apologize when Dorian stepped in.

“It’s my fault, I pushed the Herald a little too hard. He dispelled the fire before I could get to it, but I assure you neither of us would have let it hurt anyone else. The only person he hurt is himself.”

“Just… go home, you two,” sighed the Commander, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think Haven has seen enough excitement for the day and I need to have a long talk with my soldiers.”

“Of course, Commander.” Dorian’s hand settled on Lan’s shoulder. “Come. Let’s go somewhere where you can put your hands in the snow without anyone asking questions.”

Dorian actually led Lan to a quiet place and told him to sit and stick his hands in the snow. Lan obeyed, it did feel nice.

“I’m sorry,” said Lan as Dorian sat heavily beside him.

Dorian sighed. “Whatever for? I’m the one who pushed you.”

“You only asked questions. I panicked. But I-...I didn’t use blood magic!”

“No, of course you didn’t.” Dorian ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t really accusing you, I was thinking… It doesn’t matter. I was intrigued and frustrated, I started treating you like a problem to solve and I shouldn’t have. You were hurt because I couldn’t keep my curiosity in check, and for that I really do apologize, Herald.”

Dorian looked tired. He’d nearly drained himself just to teach Lan how to make a reasonable fireball, and then had been silenced for his trouble. He could be forgiven for curiosity -he wasn’t the first one to find Lan to be an oddity.

“It’s okay. I am very weird.”

That made Dorian smile. “You certainly are unique.”

Lan bit his lips. “So, um, my power. Can you feel it all the time?”

“No. It only becomes obvious if you’re looking for it -or when the Mark flares…”

Lan nodded. At least he wasn’t a beacon to every templar in the area.

“Can you keep it a secret?” he asked quietly.

Dorian chuckled. “What do you think will happen if I tell someone you’re powerful? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but word is Andraste asked you to lead us to salvation. As long as you don’t try to incinerate another camp, I’m fairly certain anyone who gets a whiff of your unusual power will assume it’s a divine gift, or at the very least, the Mark acting up.”

“But you don’t.”

There was a short silence.

“I won’t tell anyone," Dorian promised. "You have my word, Herald. How are your hands?”

Lan pulled them out of the snow to appraise the burns. “They’re fine.”

“You really put the fear of the Maker into that soldier.”

Lan winced. “I should have let the Commander do it.”

“I think your display had a bigger impact,” said Dorian with a smile. “The usually quiet Herald of Andraste getting angry and flashing his Holy Mark had quite the effect. You looked like you were going to either banish that soldier into the Fade or kick him. Either way, people would have composed songs about it.”

The Mark had flashed? Lan looked at his palm, inert and quiet. He hadn’t noticed… He buried his hands back under the snow, letting the cold bite into his flesh.

“I wasn’t going to do it. I didn’t want to hurt him. I wouldn’t hurt him. I don’t hurt people.” That was a lie. Lan chose to go with it anyway.

“For what it’s worth,” said Dorian, “he was only trying to protect you.”

“What? No. No! He silenced you!”

“Yes, I was there, I do remember. He was--”

“He wasn’t anything! He silenced you when he didn’t have to, and he had his sword. You humiliated him this morning, he wanted revenge! I knew he was too aggressive. I guess he didn’t do anything to me just because I’m the Herald but every other mage is fair game!”

“Lan...”

“I can’t be used as an excuse against you -or, or someone else! Fenedhis… If you’d been training with anyone else, if the Commander hadn’t arrived in time....”

Dorian stayed impassive. “I am not defenseless. Not even without magic.”

“You were knocked off your feet!”

“It took me by surprise. Templars in Tevinter do not possess this… ability. I wasn’t prepared for it, that’s all.”

“But I know what it feels like. It’s horrible. And Cullen said it was brutal…” Lan’s voice trailed off. He looked down at his hands disappearing under the snow, when Dorian had previously used ice magic to soothe his burns. Without thinking, he pulled a hand out and touched Dorian’s shoulder. He felt a slight tremor under his fingers. “Are you all right?”

Dorian thinned his lips. “I am perfectly fine. Now... if your hands have stopped burning, I think we should all go back.”

Lan nodded, nose scrunched up in thought. “Do you think three days is enough?”

“For...?”

“Before another session, I mean. The Commander won’t be happy if we do it again tomorrow, but maybe...”

“You still want to train with me?”

Lan blinked. “You… don’t?” he asked meekly. “Sorry. You’re right, it’s not safe. I can get by with my normal fireballs.”

Dorian looked at him quietly for a moment, before a small, breathy laugh escaped him.

“Lan, nobody can get by with _those_ fireballs. Three days it is. I’ll find us a place away from twitchy templars. And I promise to stop putting my nose where it’s not wanted.”

They didn’t have time to do anything. The next morning saw Fiona and Solas assuring the war council that they had prepared enough mages, and they were ready for the Breach. Stomach sinking, Lan nodded his assent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian, scion of House Pavus and extremely gifted mage, beaten without a second thought by someone who can barely hold a fireball together. It smarts a little. Ah well, he's not that petty, he just can't figure Lan out. 
> 
>  
> 
> I always wonder, in the game, how you're supposed to get out of that castle in the Mire with your injured soldiers. I mean there's a ton of undead at the gates, your companions tell you to run through and not fight. So when you leave, presumably there's still like 50 corpses waiting for you... Solas is going to need lyrium.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall of Haven.
> 
> (and some sex ed, courtesy of Varric)

Lan stood before the stakewall, looking up at the Breach as he had so many times before. Behind him were the clings and clangs of their army getting ready. Lan took a shaky breath, watched it turn into smoke. Today was even colder than usual.

His chest felt hollow, his mouth dry. Fear thrummed through him, sharp to the point of being painful, threaded through every nerve and every bone and every vein. There was no escaping this. He couldn’t refuse, he couldn’t ask Varric to solve this problem for him, he couldn’t hide behind Cassandra. There was only him, the faith the Inquisition put in him, and this fear that was making his eyes water and his heart shrink.

“Herald?”

Lan looked at the Commander approaching him.

“Yes?” he asked warily.

“My soldiers and I are at your service. Until that Breach is sealed, say the word and we will follow your orders.”

Lan stared at him. “I’d rather you do that. I don’t know how to talk to an army.”

The Commander chuckled. “Then give me the order, and I’ll translate. Whatever misunderstanding you and I shared.... you have my support. I wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Why?” asked Lan. “You hate me.”

“I don’t,” said Cullen without a second’s hesitation. “You and I certainly started on the wrong foot, and I have… a few problems of my own that probably complicate matters. But I do not hate you at all. I appreciate your efforts, I know it’s not easy.”

“Even when I start a fight?”

“Martin was out of place and you know it,” said the Commander with a slight frown.

Lan hadn’t seen Martin since the incident yesterday. He could only imagine Cullen had ordered him to stay put.

“Why did you choose him as my instructor?”

“He was one of the few soldiers at the time who had nothing to do. I… can’t imagine those lessons were very fun for you.”

“You didn’t tell me he was a templar.”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

Lan shrugged. “He’s twitchy.”

The Commander nodded. “I should have known he would overstep. I apologize for not recognizing it in him earlier. I talked to him -him, and the rest of the soldiers too. They know this sort of behavior is not tolerated. I won’t let it happen again. Although, I also made sure Fiona tells her mages not to throw electricity at each other with no regard for safety. She assured me the people she picked for the Breach are more experienced and inclined to listen.”

Lan looked behind him. Soldiers and mages weren’t exactly mingling, but they were standing side by side.

“You made the right call back at Redcliffe,” Cullen said. “The mages are thankful and eager to prove themselves -a little too eager, maybe, but it’s a testament of their good intentions. You stood for them. They will follow you, and so will our army.”

“You didn’t find abominations among them.”

The Commander took a deep breath. “No.”

Lan lowered his gaze. He brought his hands together, palm against palm, feeling the buzz of energy from the Mark as it crackled, restless, under his skin. His fear hummed along.

“What happens if I can’t close the Breach?”

“Then we will look for another solution,” said Cullen without missing a beat. “All is not lost as long as we’re standing.”

“What if it kills me?”

Silence answered him. Lan fiddled nervously with the hilt of a dagger he’d slipped into his belt just moments ago.

Finally, the Commander spoke. “I don’t know if this helps or not… but if the worst happens, nobody will forget your sacrifice. Your detractors will not get the last word, Thedas will know an elven mage stood for them.”

Lan said nothing. It was a surprisingly nice sentiment coming from the Commander, but Cullen had misunderstood him. He didn’t care much for what the Chantry might say about him once he was gone. But if the Mark died with him… nobody could close rifts anymore. They would keep multiplying, slowly covering Thedas until it was more Fade than world.

He reported his eyes to the Breach. The Mark stuttered to the rhythm of its own heartbeat.

“Commander!” A scout was running to them, curiously followed by Varric. “The troops are ready, Commander. Your Grace,” she added, bowing low to Lan.

“Don’t,” asked Lan immediately. “Don’t bow.”

She straightened up in a heartbeat. “Yes, your Worship.”

Lan sighed, and the Commander’s mouth twitched. He gave Lan a salute.

“Your Worship. Whenever you are ready.”

Scout and Commander turned around and walked back to the village. Varric looked at Lan.

“Ready to save the world?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I thought not.” Varric pointed at Lan’s belt. “I didn’t know you used daggers.”

Lan put his marked hand over the hilt of the weapon.

“I know the thin end cuts. It’s enough.”

“For?”

Lan’s hand tightened around the hilt. “Solas says that when the Breach closes, it could swallow me. Maybe. It’s a possibility. And _I_ can survive in the Fade, somehow... And I don’t… want to.”

“Hey.” Varric’s gloved hand covered Lan’s. “You’re staying here.”

“You can’t know that, Varric. It’s all right,” Lan said as he caught the look in the dwarf’s eyes. “It’s just in case. I can’t… I can’t get stuck alone in the Fade. I don’t remember the first time and I don’t want to!”

Slowly, Varric nodded, but he still pulled Lan’s hand away from the dagger and held it, as if to stop him from touching the blade again.

“Pointy. You ran away in the freezing night because you slightly annoyed me. Remember?”

Lan frowned. “What are you saying?”

“That you tend to panic and go a little extreme.”

“But… but it’s the Fade, Varric.” Lan couldn’t be stuck in the Fade and wait for demons to feed on him. He couldn’t let himself die slowly in a foreign world. Alone.

“I know,” said Varric, “and I really can’t tell you to leave that dagger behind. But you have to promise you will leave it on your belt until your mind is clear and you have weighed all your options. Promise me it’s a last resort. You won’t touch it unless you’re actually stuck in the Fade. Not a moment before.”

“Varric…” Guilt tugged on Lan’s heart. He didn’t want to worry his friend, he shouldn’t have told him. Varric lifted an eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer, and Lan nodded. “I promise.”

Varric squeezed his wrist before releasing it. “Then let’s go, your Heraldness. History awaits.”

* * *

He’d forgotten how loud it was. The green maelstrom above his head roared angrily at him, as if this whole thing was his fault.

Behind him, the mages organized themselves in lines. He’d seen Dorian and Vivienne among them earlier. Solas stood ready to command them. Cullen was waiting, hoping his men wouldn’t have to be called upon.

Cassandra was right behind Lan. He could feel her gaze on him. It had been on him ever since they’d left Haven, ever since his Mark had woken up and made him bite down cries of pain. As if it knew what was going to happen, it had grown restless ; now he stood under the Breach, and it was boiling in the center of his palm. His tattoos had also started hurting somewhere along the way, as if the Breach pulled on them, tried to rip them off his body.

Lan turned around. He met Solas’ eyes, and nodded.

Solas ordered the mages to focus their energy on the Herald. To draw their will from him. Lan swallowed and looked back at the Breach. If the mages had to draw on his will, then his will had to be absolute. He closed his eyes.

He wanted Varric to write more books. He wanted the Bull and his Chargers to tell more stories around a campfire. He wanted Sera to go back to the Jennies. He wanted Solas to make many more journeys. He wanted Josephine and Leliana to have a happy life, and he did want the Commander to survive this. He wanted Cassandra to terrorize many more Chantry clerics. And he wanted Dorian to find his place, wherever that may be.

The only way for all this to happen, was for Lan to close that damned Breach. Even if it took him with it, even if it did rip his markings out of his skin, he couldn’t stop until it was gone.

He focused on this feeling and held on to it like a lifeline. He felt the magic wash over him as the mages all focused on him. He put his right hand on the dagger at his belt, lifted his left hand, and let the Mark take over.

The Breach screeched, and inhaled, and attempted to slip under his skin. An incredible power coursed through him, travelled through his tattoos ; it crushed every bone in his hand, made his eyes boil in his skull.

He screamed, his knees gave out. The Breach was breathing in the energy from the Mark and taking everything else with it. He thought he heard the Commander shout something and Solas answer. He thought he heard Cassandra say his name.

He could not fail.

He forced his fingers to close around the Mark. And with a last push, he willed all the energies flying around him to break apart.

The Breach shuddered. Then, it exploded.

And then… Silence. No more raging storm.

Lan’s arm fell to the floor. His breathing came out in gasps. He bent over until his forehead touched the ground. The air smelled burnt and a very soft wind cooled the sweat drenching his body.

Someone let out a cry of joy. Soon followed by ten, twenty, forty.

“Herald!” Cassandra knelt by his side.

He looked up at her. There were two of her, but she was there, and the Breach wasn’t. Lan grabbed her arm with crushing force.

“It’s over,” he breathed.

Cassandra smiled, and she nodded, and Lan closed his eyes and let her guide him home.

* * *

Haven was elated.

People were dancing, laughing, jumping. And above them, the night sky, quiet, peppered with stars.

Lan looked at the people from above, crouched on the rocky outcrop in front of the Chantry. He heard someone approach and quickly stood up and straightened his clothes. Josephine had handed them to him after he’d taken a much-needed bath ; they were quite fancy, and also quite uncomfortable.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm,” said Cassandra as she walked to him. “The Breach has been sealed. There are reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but.. this was a victory.” She looked at him. “Word of your heroism has spread. So of course, you are hiding.”

“I’m not hiding. I’m observing.”

“From the shadows.”

“The- the view is nice.”

Cassandra shook her head at him. Then she pushed him.

He stumbled. “What!”

“Go,” she ordered.

“But… where?”

“Down. If you are not walking through your people next time I see you, I will have to take matters in my own hands.”

She walked down to the village herself and joined Josephine and Leliana. ‘My _people?’_ thought Lan. He watched the three of them for a moment, before Cassandra’s eyes snapped toward him and he hurried down.

There was so much movement around him, surrounding him. Some people gave him friendly pats -it hurt, his body was still sore. Others had decided whispering in awe wasn’t enough anymore, they were now shouting at him from across the village. It was all compliments and vows of worship, but every raised voice coming his way made Lan want to hide again.

He saw Varric surrounded by a few people and made a bee-line. The dwarf caught his gaze and easily dismissed his audience.

“You look like you’ve just been thrown to the wolves.”

“Feels like it,” answered Lan in a tight voice.

“Not a fan of parties thrown in your honor?”

“Or parties. I’ve never...”

“You’ve never been to a party?”

“Not very big party people, the Dalish.” Lan caught a sharp movement at the corner of his eye and flinched away from it. “Sorry,” he mumbled when he saw Varric’s look. “Also not used to so many people dancing around.”

“Not very big dancing people, the Dalish?” echoed Varric.

“Don’t know. I was never invited to the kinds of parties where people dance.”

“What other kinds of parties are there?”

“Don’t know. I was never invited to the other parties.”

“It’s not complicated, you know,” said Varric. “You just have to try _very_ hard not to run away every time someone so much as looks at you, and you’ll be golden.”

Lan grunted. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not! This is genuine advice! Most people don’t take kindly to someone reacting to their presence like they’re the harbinger of death, or they’re going to get told to go suck a nug.”

“I’ve never told anyone to go suck a nug…”

“Not with words, but your face does it for you.” Varric’s eyes went to Lan’s belt. “No more dagger?”

“I promised you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Varric put a light hand to Lan’s back. “You did good, for a small elf.”

“Thank you…” Lan put an arm around him shoulder. “...smaller dwarf.”

“All right, I deserved that one.”

Lan let his eyes wander toward the dancing people, the laughing soldiers. He recognized mages among them, participating without fear. Everyone was too happy to care.

Dorian was standing alone, a drink in his hand. His eyes were on a campfire, apparently deeply lost in thoughts. The fire’s warm glow softened the thoughtful lines on his face. Lan tilted his head, wondering if the man felt lonely. Maybe he should go talk to him...

As if he sensed eyes on him, Dorian turned his head and caught Lan’s gaze. He smiled and raised his glass toward him. Lan gave him a small, hesitant wave.

“I’d recommend breathing.”

Lan jumped. “What?”

Varric was smirking. “Is it the Tevinter that makes you go rigid like that?”

“I’m not rigid.”

“You’re more stone than elf right now. Oh, don’t start scowling. I think it’s cute.”

“What’s cute?”

“You know, I sometimes wonder if you’re really that clueless, or if you’re doing it on purpose.” Varric jerked his head in Dorian’s direction. “You trained with him yesterday.”

Lan shrugged. “He said my barriers were interesting.”

“Yeah? Do you think _his_ barriers are interesting?”

“Not really. But his fireballs are beautiful and- why are you laughing?”

Varric stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Just thinking about a certain friend of mine and how happy she’d be right now. Tell me more about the sparkly mage’s big balls of fire.”

Lan frowned. “No.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”

“He guessed there’s something more to me than just the Mark.”

That shut Varric up for a second. “Did you tell him anything?”

“No. He doesn’t know what it is, just that there’s _something_. But he promised not to tell anyone.”

“You trust him to keep that promise?”

“Why not?”

“Pointy.” Varric sounded like a disappointed parent. “Did he lure you into training with him just so he could study you?”

“ _Lure_ me?” repeated Lan. “I can think for myself, Varric.”

“Yeah? Because you just looked at him for five minutes and forgot how to breathe.”

“I know how to breathe!” protested Lan. “Listen, Dorian was curious. He-… I don’t know, read my magic while I cast my spells, or something, but that’s all.” Varric still didn’t look convinced. “You didn’t see what happened in the other Redcliffe! The tattoos made me useless. He had to carry me everywhere and he didn’t know why. He saved me, Varric. He saved all of us.”

Varric patted him on the arm. “And I’m very thankful to him for that. I’m not saying he wants to dissect you. You have to be careful who you let into your little secret no matter how pretty you think their moustache is. You can take the mage out of Tevinter but I don’t know if you can take the Tevinter out of the mage.”

“He left Tevinter himself. He said he wasn’t welcome home. You’re being unfair.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Just don’t let him talk your clothes off.”

“Take?”

“Talk,” corrected Varric. “Or take... Keep your clothes on, Elf.”

“I don’t… Dorian wears nice clothes. These itch,” said Lan gesturing at his new outfit. “Why would he want them?”

The expression on Varric’s face was hard to decipher. “Pointy, if you keep that up I will draw you very detailed, very educational pictures, and you will hate it. Please, for the love of the Maker, tell me you know about sex.”

“Of course I know,” said Lan with a frown. “Aravels are small, and I shared one with three other elves…” Lan’s voice trailed off. “Wait, no. Wait! Is that what you-... No! I don’t want Dorian to-... and he won’t… No!”

“Finally!” exclaimed Varric. “That was a long and difficult journey, but we did reach the end.”

Lan’s cheeks went warm very quickly. He wanted to protest more but something suddenly awoke in his mind. A faint scratching, a quiet, discordant song echoing through the mountains. His heart jumped to his throat.

“Varric--” He grabbed the dwarf, pulling him backward. “Varric, Varric we have to go.”

Bells rang. They echoed through the whole village and the party stuttered to a hesitant halt. The Commander appeared, shouting orders, and fright fell over Haven once more. People ran for cover, abandoning everything behind. Lan weaved through them to reach Cullen.

Cassandra and Josephine were already talking with the Commander. The song in Lan’s head grew louder.

“One watchtower reporting. It’s a massive force, but the bulk is over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” asked Josephine.

“None.”

“None?”

Lan looked up at what he could see of the mountain over the stakewall. Lights were coming down. The sound of thousands of feet marching through snow to a military rhythm soon echoed all around them. Something hit the doors hard. They jumped back, but a young voice filtered through.

“You have to open! I can’t get in if you don’t open!”  

Lan looked at the Commander, and ran. The both of them pulled the heavy doors open. Behind them, three deformed monsters in templar armor lied dead on the ground. In the middle, a young man with a large hat and wide blue eyes looked at Lan.

“I’m Cole,” he said. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

Had that kid killed those monsters? Lan approached slowly, the Commander close behind.

“What’s going on?”

“The templars,” said Cole. “They come to kill you.”

“Templars?” The Commander walked to the boy, sword held high.

“Don’t!” Lan grabbed the Commander as the boy stepped back in fright. “Don’t hurt him.”

Cullen looked murderous. “Is this the Order’s response to our alliance with the mages? They _attack us_?”

“The red templars went to the Elder One,” said the kid. “You know him? He knows you. He is very angry that you took his mages.”

“I’ve-I’ve heard of him,” managed to stutter Lan.

The army marched on and the red lyrium’s song swelled horribly around Lan. There were so many of them. They were going to exterminate Haven.

“We have to get inside, Herald,” said Cullen urgently.

“You can hear the Song,” said Cole in an odd voice. “You feel like the templars, but not.”

Lan stared at him. Cullen grabbed his arm. “Let’s go! Now!”

“But what do we do?” Lan cried out, but Cullen looked grim.

“Haven can’t stand against this. We’ll have to use the trebuchets before they can get to us."

He ran back in, Lan on his heels. He quickly organized his soldiers and Lan saw their pitiful number run into danger to execute their Commander’s orders. This was never going to work.

The first templars broke through the stakewall. Red lyrium had taken over their bodies, twisting them into monsters, and it screamed at Lan from every side.

“Herald!” Solas, Cassandra and Varric were running to him. The templars poured in like a crimson wave. Some went for the trebuchet and stopped it from firing. People were running in every direction, too scared to think, and the templars cut through them like butter.

Lan cast a barrier over himself and ran to the trebuchet. He threw fireballs at any templar he could see, not stopping to see if it killed them. He just needed them to back off so he could cast barriers over the soldiers trying to prep the machine. 

A deformed templar attempted to run past him. Without thinking, Lan jumped on the creature. He heard the trebuchet’s release and the impact against the mountain, followed by the thunder of an avalanche, just as he managed to make the templar stumble and fall. With every bit of strength he had, Lan planted the staff of his blade into the monster’s chest. It screamed, but didn’t die. It rolled over, forcing Lan onto his back, and loomed over him, red energy crackling from its fingertips and blood streaming freely from its wound.

> _He is straddling someone, pushing them into the stone floor underneath. Magic crackles from his fingers, electricity leaves him in waves and the person under him writhes in pain--_

“Lan!”

Lan was standing, Dorian’s hands on his shoulders to keep him upright. The red templar who’d been straddling him was a burnt corpse on the ground.

“Can you hear me?” asked Dorian. Lan blinked and nodded. “Lan, Cullen says someone found a way out, we can evacuate!”

“Right… right.” Lan turned toward the few soldiers still standing around the trebuchet, trying to load another projectile in. He sprung barriers over each of them. “Leave that! Go to the Chantry!”

The soldiers obeyed immediately. Dorian took over, a levitation spell pulling the boulder into place as Cassandra started to prep the mechanism. Another avalanche should bury the templars still going down the mountain, they could win this if only they caught enough of them--

A bestial shriek tore through the sky. They looked up as a dragon flew over their heads, wings beating loudly in the air.

“Archdemon!” shouted Varric.

The dragon spat a spray of red energy aiming right for Lan. He jumped, away from everyone else. He landed hard, inhaled dust and ash. Dazed, he heard Varric’s voice somewhere, calling for him.

Lan pushed to his feet, unsteady. He couldn’t see Varric, or anyone else. There was too much destruction, dust in the air, fire rising like walls. Corpses everywhere. Soldiers and villagers, Mabaris, horses, dead, everywhere Lan looked. They were losing.

“Lan!” 

“Run!” he screamed. “Run! Please just run, please!” He heard someone else shout for him -Dorian. He wanted to answer but a painful cough stopped his words and his breath.

He hoped they listened. He turned around, toward the beast circling him. Circling _only him_. That thing wanted him. He forced his lungs to settle. He had to find a way to keep the dragon right here... Lan’s eyes fell onto the trebuchet, armed and poised to fire. Oh Maker, he hoped an avalanche could take out an archdemon.

He threw himself at the trebuchet and with all the strength he had left, started to turn the wheel, turning the engine around.

A powerful blast pushed him back. The dragon landed, trapping Lan between it and a wall of fire. And from the smoke, the Elder One appeared. Lan only stared for a second, before his entire body contorted in pain. The Mark on his hand flared and roared.

“Pretender.” The voice hurt his ears. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

Lan squinted through the pain. The creature walking toward him exuded wrongness. It wanted to hurt him, hurt all the refugees until nothing remained and all that Lan had seen and done was ashes. And through the agonized haze that blanketed his mind, Lan felt only white, burning hatred for this Elder One.

“You look ridiculous,” he hissed through clenched teeth. He grabbed the trebuchet’s wheel and pulled himself to his feet, using his own weight to turn one last time.

The creature walked toward him slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to kill him.

“You will kneel at my feet before long,” he gurgled. “Exalt the Elder One. Behold the Will that is Corypheus.”

If Lan had enough breath left he would have laughed.

“I am here for the Anchor. " Corypheus raised a hand holding an orb glowing with red energy. Lan’s entire left arm was trembling under the strain of the Mark. "The process of removing it begins now.”

The orb’s energy flared. Lan crumpled as the Mark twisted within his palm. His tattoos burned like a white-hot brand against his skin.

Corypheus was suddenly there. He grabbed Lan by the wrist and pulled him up like he weighed nothing. Lan felt his bone popping out of his shoulder, tears in his eyes blurred his vision and the smoke scratched his throat raw.

“Something within you resists me,” Corypheus growled. He brought Lan closer to his face. The red lyrium embedded in his jaw made a shrill noise. “You are nothing. You cannot best me.”

Lan was thrown to the ground. He landed against the trebuchet and the shock spread through his entire body. His hand was screaming at him ; everything was screaming at him.

“You have spoiled it,” growled Corypheus. “Your ruined body latched onto the Anchor.”

The ground shook as the dragon followed Corypheus slowly approaching. Lan managed to sit up, gritting his teeth.

Corypheus was snarling. “Your very existence is an insult.”

“Yeah?” rasped Lan. “And what’s yours?”

“I will walk the Fade and give this world the guidance it requires. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the seat of the Gods, and it was empty.” Corypheus reached out for Lan again, his clawed hand scratched his arm, drawing blood. “You are nothing but a slave waiting for its Master. Rejoice, as I will give purpose to your broken shell once more.”

The dragon screeched. Lan twisted out of Corypheus’ reach and jumped.

He threw his entire body against the trebuchet’s release mechanism. The boulder was slung into the air and hit the mountaintop just above Haven.

An avalanche rumbled. Several tons of snow barrelled down the slope and right toward them as the ground under them shook and crumbled, as the mountain itself was torn apart against the force of it.

Lan heard Corypheus scream in frustration. The last thing he saw before snow and rocks swallowed him was the creature escaping in its dragon’s claws.

* * *

>   _‘Withstand. Do not fail me again.’_

Lan was numb. From head to toe. But he couldn’t tell where his toes were. Nor any other part of him. He stared up at a ceiling made of rock and ice. His body shivered. He didn’t feel cold, but his body shivered.

>   _‘Withstand. Do not fail me.’_

He was underground. Cassandra had said something about abandoned mining tunnels once. 

His limbs weighed several tons when he moved them. His knee was busted, his left arm unresponsive, he couldn’t breathe properly, there was blood everywhere. And he felt nothing.

>    _Searing agony rips through him, swallows him whole. A warning rings in his head, again and again -’Do not fail me.’_

Lan blinked. He was upright. He didn’t remember standing up.

Staying on his feet proved difficult ; moving was even worse. The ground was never where he expected it to be. He stumbled along the tunnel, wondering if by some miracle this was where the others had fled. Solas. Varric. Dorian. Dorian had shouted something before the dragon had landed. Lan couldn’t remember what it was. Had Dorian stayed behind? Had anyone been buried under all that snow? He couldn’t be Herald anymore if he’d killed his own people.

>   _‘Green eyes staring ahead, at nothing--’_

Lan shook his head. “Go away,” he mumbled to the green eyes. They faded.

The walls sent the sound of his ragged breaths back at him. He was moving in a miasma. A familiar shriek reached his ear. Despair Demons materialized ahead of him, pouring out of a small rift. He didn’t stop. There was no point.

He had to use his right hand to lift his left and direct its energy at the rift and suddenly… everything came back to him. Every bruised muscle, every broken bone, every battered nerve lit up. Something glowed under his ripped clothes as the Mark -the Anchor- discharged pent-up energy and the rift exploded, taking the demons with it in one go.

The Anchor settled, the numbness returned. The glowing stopped.

Lan peeled back a ripped piece of his shirt. His tattoos had just glowed. He vaguely wondered if that meant he really was Fenris. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t himself.

The tunnel spat him out into a snow storm. A small voice at the back of his head told him to stay inside, stay sheltered, but he ignored it. He couldn’t feel the cold, why bother.

The wind hit him like a wall. He pushed on. He realized he’d started talking aloud at some point.

“Withstand. Do not fail…” He repeated these words like a mantra between clattering teeth. He couldn’t seem to stop.

He wanted to give up, lie in the snow, but dying of cold seemed unpleasant. He should have kept the dagger. Or not, he’d promised Varric. But Varric was dead now. Wasn't he?

Light flickered ahead. A campfire? Or a rift?

Lan thought he heard a voice. His knees gave up. He thought he saw the Commander run toward him. He thought he heard Cassandra order someone to bring a blanket. And then the Commander really was there, kneeling next to him in the snow.

“Herald? Can you hear me? Maker preserves us, how is he alive.” His brown eyes locked on Lan’s. “You’re going to be all right.”

Lan thought he laughed, then didn’t think anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Lan has a crush.. well, mainly he feels a sort of kinship with Dorian because of Redcliffe, and because Dorian is being shunned and he knows how that feels. But also Dorian’s pretty... now if only Lan was aware that he had a crush...  
> -Varric does not like the idea of Lan holding sharp objects. Granted, Lan’s staff has a blade, but that’s not easy to use against yourself.  
> -Corypheus might have a dragon, but Lan has a malfunctioning survival instinct, and more anger than fear. So, take that.


	9. Chapter 9

Lan woke up to shapes and garbled noises. Blurs of color. His body was on fire.

“What’s wrong with him!”

“Bring more blankets.”

“But Solas--”

“If you would stop shouting, I might be able to do something.”

There was pressure, fire, pain. Lan ran back into the darkness.

The world came back again in slightly more focus. He was lying on a cot, under the cloth of a tent. Josephine was sitting by his side. Lan tried to say something, only managed to choke on nothing. Josephine panicked, hands grabbed him. Lan lost his grasp on consciousness.

The next time, it was Dorian sitting by his side, with Mother Giselle and Cullen. All lost in their own thoughts, silent. Dorian had a hand on the blanket covering Lan, and magic scuttled across the cloth, warming it up to a comfortable temperature.

 _Dorian was alive_. Lan tried to reach out but his body refused to move. A bubble of panic climbed up his throat and escaped in a whimper. Dorian immediately looked at him. He put a blessedly warm hand on Lan’s forehead.

“He’s awake.”

“Herald.” Mother Giselle came to him with a bowl of something and helped him sit up. “Drink this.”

His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, but whatever was in the bowl soothed his body.

“Can you understand me?” asked Mother Giselle.

Not trusting his voice, Lan nodded.

“Ser Pavus,” called Cullen, “could you fetch Seeker Cassandra?”

“Of course.”

Lan blinked, and then there was Cassandra, the Commander, Josephine and Leliana around his bed. Mother Giselle and Dorian were nowhere to be seen.

“How are you feeling?” asked Josephine.

“I don’t know…” answered Lan honestly. He wasn’t numb anymore ; his body was awake with a multitude of injuries, every part of him throbbed, but his mind was sluggish and his thoughts fought through a thick fog. “How long…?”

“Almost two days since we found you in the snow,” answered Leliana. “Three since Haven fell.”

He’d spent a day in the snow? “I don’t remember.”

“I’d be surprised if you remember most of it,” said Cassandra. “You were half frozen when we found you.”

“Where… where are we?”

A moment of silence passed. The advisors exchanged a glance.

“We are still in the Frostback mountains, Herald,” said Cassandra. “The blizzard forced us to stop not even a day after we left Haven.”

“Which is fortunate,” said Josephine, “as it allowed you to find us.”

“So we’re… nowhere?”

“For now,” said Cassandra, as if she was determined to find proper shelter in the next few days.

“Everyone got out?”

Josephine pressed her lips together as Cullen shook his head. “We have lost a lot of people,” he said, somber. “But the ones we managed to shepherd to the escape tunnel are still alive. We have a dozen wounded who still require care, but… we survived.”

Lan swallowed thickly. “Varric…?”

“Varric made it out, your Worship,” assured Leliana. Then, as if she read Lan’s mind, she added, “The people you recruited personally have all escaped with minor injuries.”

Tension fled Lan’s body as relief washed over him. The bed under him was suddenly a lot more comfortable, the blankets a lot warmer. His friends were alive, he hadn’t accidentally trapped someone in the avalanche.

“Are you ready to answer a few questions?” asked Leliana.

“I think so…”

They helped him sit up. They’d dressed him in a white robe, much too thin against the cold but it hid his upper body efficiently. Underneath it, his left arm was bound tightly against his chest, the side of his right leg was skinned nearly to the bone from knee to ankle, and various parts of him echoed with sharp pain.

Lan took a breath, and told everything he could remember about the attack. When he uttered the name Corypheus, Cassandra left briefly and came back with Varric.

“Pointy! I’m so happy to see you awake!”

“Herald, tell him what you just told us,” cut in Cassandra. “I have to make sure.”

Lan did, and Varric blanched.

“That can’t be. We killed Corypheus!”

“What?”

“A darkspawn Magister from the times of the old Tevinter Imperium who’d been imprisoned underground and kept under lock by Grey Wardens who’d gone crazy. Don’t look at me like that, Ruffles, I know how that sounds. Hawke and I killed him.”

“He’s very tall for a dead Magister,” said Lan flatly.

“That’s not possible. I saw him die.”

“Varric, he tried to tear me apart. He’s not dead.” Lan’s voice lost all its steam, the last few words becoming nothing more than whispers. Black spots appeared all over his eyes. He took a few steadying breaths and blinked several times in a row.

Varric looked at him a moment, eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not doubting you, Pointy. I’m just confused.” The dwarf took his arm. “Come on. Lie down.”

Lan followed the advice. The black spots disappeared.

“Come with me, Varric,” said Leliana, a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “You are going to tell me everything you know about this Corypheus. Your Worship, we have bothered you enough, you should rest.”

They left. Lan blinked once, twice, and fell asleep.

The next time he woke, it was to the sound of familiar voices arguing. They were lost, cold, low on medicine and food. This camp could not hold much longer.

Slowly, Lan pushed himself up onto his one functioning elbow. He could see the advisors’ shadows behind the cloth of the tent, snarling at each other.

“They do so enjoy talking in circles.”

Lan startled. He hadn’t noticed Dorian, sitting behind the head of the bed, legs and arms crossed.

“I think- maybe I should-”

“No, you really shouldn’t,” said Dorian, placing a restrictive hand on Lan’s shoulder. “I have strict instructions to keep you under the covers at all time. How do you feel? Do I need to fetch the Mother?”

Lan shook his head. “I think I’m fine… where is Mother Giselle?”

“Tending to the other wounded. Everyone else is busy shouting at each other, which only leaves me to look after you.” He put a hand on the cot, and immediately warmth spread through it. Lan shivered.

“That’s nice…” he mumbled.

“It is a neat trick,” agreed Dorian with a soft smile. “Go back to sleep, Herald.”

Lan blinked slowly. He wasn’t very tired. Given the choice between some company or endless, blank sleep, he chose the former. His attempt at sitting up, however, did not succeed and he just flopped uselessly under Dorian’s disapproving eye.

“Honestly,” scolded the man, pushing Lan back down. “I have been told to keep every bit of you under the covers. Don’t get me in trouble, now.”

“I’ll be fine,” promised Lan. He had an idea why Dorian had been so sternly told to keep Lan’s body covered, but he was conscious enough to make sure his markings stayed hidden.

Dorian sighed dramatically, but he wrapped an arm around Lan’s shoulders and gently pulled him up.

“Maker, you weigh nothing.”

“I don’t weigh _nothing_ ,” protested Lan weakly.

“Oh, very well. You weigh as much as a wet kitten. Do these people ever feed you?”

“Why are you here?” Lan asked, then realized how that sounded and his eyes widened. “No! It’s not that, I don’t- I mean, you’re fine here, it’s not what I meant--”

Dorian’s chuckle stopped him. “Slow down. You’ll sprain your own tongue.”

“I’m just… wondering…” Lan mumbled weakly.

Dorian rearranged the blankets, wrapping them around Lan’s upper body. “You were a very striking shade of blue when we found you, I was requisitioned to thaw you. You kept shivering in your sleep and I do know helpful tricks.” The blankets suddenly became warm and comfortable. “This is the only reason the evil Magister is allowed by the Herald’s side. So you understand I am on thin ice, and Solas will have my head if I allow you to overexert yourself. He worked quite hard to bring you back to us.”

Lan brought his legs against his chest. “I just saw an evil Magister. You don’t look like him.”

“Yes, I have heard about that… it is troubling, to say the least,” said Dorian quietly, his fingers tapping against the bed. “I’m amazed you came back to us. I thought… well. I thought you dead. Everyone did.”

Lan’s breathing hitched in his chest and he shivered. “I wasn’t-... I didn’t know if you’d survived. Any of you. I don’t know what… what I would have done…”

“Your Commander and your Seeker are very competent people. They led everyone to safety quickly and efficiently. The boy- what’s his name? Cole? He told us you were out there.”

“Cole? Cole’s here?”

“He… was…” Dorian looked around, as if expecting Cole to be standing in the corner. “Yes, he did say something about your light walking toward us. We assumed that meant you were somewhere close, somehow. Commander and Seeker weren’t the only ones out in the snow hoping for a sign of life.”

“How did I find you?” wondered Lan quietly. “I can’t remember.. I was so scared I caught you in the avalanche...”

Dorian thinned his lips, moustache twitching. “Do you remember telling us to run?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, we listened. We all thought you would follow us. It did not cross our mind that you were going to wait for the nice archdemon to come say hello, and by the time we realized that was your intent, the beast was already swooping down.”

“I couldn’t see you,” mumbled Lan. “I didn’t know where you were, all I knew was that… the Elder One was after me…”

“Ah, the selfless sacrifice of the hero. You do know those happen at the end of the book, not right at the start. That cuts the whole story a bit short.”

Lan lowered his head. He clutched the blanket around himself, tucking his chin into it until only the upper half of his face was exposed to the air.

“It was brave, however,” said Dorian in a quieter, kinder voice. “Stupid, but brave. You should still consider less lethal ways to save the world.”

“I didn’t save the world. I can’t even save one village… How many are dead?”

There was a beat of silence. “I don’t know. Don’t torture yourself with that, not now. You don’t need it… What you need is more of that awful tea that Mother makes you drink every five minutes. I think it’s supposed to help, maybe the smell scares away illnesses. The last thing you need is the flu. A whole mountain’s worth of snow falls on you and you’re not even sniffling… I do not know what you’re made of.”

_-ruined body, spoiled-_

Corypheus’ voice slithered into Lan’s mind, cold and snarling. His tattoos started to itch like a thousand ants crawling under his skin. He gasped, his hands tightening into the blanket as he forced himself to stay still. His heart thumped. He wanted to tear these blankets off and scratch himself until he bled.

Dorian looked at him in alarm. “Are you in pain?”

“C-can you get Solas, please?”

“Right away.”

The advisors stopped arguing when they saw Dorian all but run out of Lan’s makeshift tent.

“Herald,” said Solas as he entered a minute later. “Is there something I can do?”

“I-I…”

“Da’len?” encouraged Solas.

“Solas, could you take a look at the markings?”

An odd expression settled on Solas’ face. 

“While you were unconscious,” he said carefully, “your markings briefly lit up.”

All the air left Lan at once. He curled on himself, winded.

“We managed to hide it,” said Solas. "Nobody but me, the Seeker and Varric saw, rest assured.”

“B-but you said… you said the spells were dormant, you said-”

“I have looked into it while you slept,” interrupted Solas. “The spells are still inactive.” Lan’s heart settled a little, as did the unpleasant sensation running along his tattoos. “I think the lyrium is simply reacting to the Anchor’s sudden surge in power.”

“Corypheus- he… the orb he used on me… is that why this Anchor is acting up?”

Solas nodded, and Lan felt the world close around him. Corypheus had some kind of power over the Anchor, which had some kind of power over the lyrium in his tattoos. Could Corypheus… tap into the markings? Use whatever spell they contained?

Solas’ voice brought him back.

“This orb -from what you have told us, it is Elven in nature. Corypheus used it to break open the Fade. Unlocking its power caused the explosion of the Conclave.”

“It’s elven?” repeated Lan. “How?”

“I have heard of a few artifacts of the same kind during my journeys in the Fade, but I never thought I would ever see one. The fact that it is here is… deeply troubling.”

“Just a bit,” breathed Lan. “Creators... if it’s elven... the humans are going to kill me.”

“Not anyone from the Inquisition. Right now, you saved them all, you were ready to trade your life for theirs. You have their undying trust.”

Lan huffed derisively, but Solas continued, undeterred.

“You are the only thing that stands between them and Thedas being ripped apart. And if you want to save them, you will need to guide them. Show them the way. Cultivate their trust, and pull them out of the darkness.”

Lan frowned at Solas. “What do you want me to do?”

Solas’ smile made Lan slightly uncomfortable.

* * *

 Lan stumbled out of his tent early in the morning, after Solas had unwrapped his left arm and provided him with warmer clothes, and went to find Cassandra.

People stared as he limped through the camp. He caught a glimpse of Dorian asleep on two crates he’d pushed together, Sera with her hands in a Mabari’s fur, the Bull offering his own body heat to a few elven servants who shivered helplessly. He also saw Alexius, in chains, between two Inquisition templars.

Nobody stopped him, but he could hear the whispers. Andraste had saved him from death again, delivered their Herald safely back to them. Lan bit on his tongue to force his thoughts away from the cynicism they were reaching for. If Solas was right, and he always was, they needed to believe.

Cassandra looked surprised to see him, but Lan only had to explain himself for a few minutes before she declared they would follow him wherever he led them. Nobody asked him for proof or details. They simply wanted to move, follow even the thinnest thread of hope, if it saved them from being erased under a coat of snow. 

The camp was packed quickly. Rumors whispered Andraste had showed Lan the way in his dreams. It wasn’t even midday before they were departing, and Lan found himself at the head of this destitute caravan, walking alongside the advisors.

“You know Andraste didn’t really give me these directions, right?” he asked Cassandra.

“I had a suspicion,” she answered dryly.

“We did notice Solas entering your tent, your Worship,” said Leliana.

Lan glanced behind him. He had made a hundred people move with only a few words. They’d put aside the hunger, the fatigue, the cold, just because a small elf with a glowing hand had promised them shelter. They didn’t know where they were going at all.

A glint caught his gaze and he found Dorian and his shiny buckles and belts, talking with Varric. Lan wondered what they could be talking about.

“Solas says he found this place in the Fade,” he said, turning back to Leliana. “It’s some kind of abandoned fortress.”

“I will gladly take anything with a roof,” grunted the Commander.

As they walked, the formation scattered. Only Cassandra remained by Lan’s side, walking quietly forward.

“Cassandra…”

She looked at him sideways. “Yes?”

“Do you truly believe I was sent by the Maker?”

“I do.” Her lack of hesitation made Lan wince. “I can see this is not the answer you wanted.”

“I just don’t understand. Thinking someone is giving you a clear purpose.”

“Do Elven gods not look after their people?”

“Not really.” Lan frowned. “Or, I don’t know. I don’t think so…”

Cassandra actually stopped walking and stared at him. “You don’t know? Do you not believe in your gods?”

“Huh… they’re not _my_ gods. I only heard the stories,” said Lan. “Is that a problem?”

“No…” Cassandra started walking again. “I simply assumed. You certainly swear with their name."

"Err, that's just a habit," said Lan. “The elven gods are imprisonned, anyway. The god Fen’harel tricked them all and locked them up in the Fade, so they can’t help the People anymore, except in some very small way. They used to walk among the elves, but now the Dalish just hope they’ll help guide arrows during a hunt.” Lan shrugged. “If they exist, they couldn’t pull me out of an avalanche all the way from the Fade.”

“And you do not believe in the Maker.”

“I just-- don’t see how.”

“Then how do you explain your survival so far?”

“I… I don’t know,” admitted Lan, almost shamefully. “It doesn’t make sense to me. But…” He looked behind him briefly. “It obviously makes sense to them. To you. Are things really that easy when you believe?”

“Faith is not here to make things easier, Herald. It is something personal to each and everyone, but it is never enough on its own. I do believe Andraste guides you, but how you, in turn, guide us, is something you have to discover yourself.”

“Solas says… I mean, I know he’s right. I know these people need something to believe in or they’ll give up. I don’t want them to give up, I don’t want Corypheus to kill any more of us. I just… I don’t feel like anyone’s guiding me. I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Are you not leading these people to safety right now?”

“I’m trying,” said Lan.

“Is that not what you promised them?”

“But… They think Andraste--”

“What they think is their problem. You promised them shelter and you are fulfilling your promise. Whether or not you are helped on your way by Andraste is what every one of us has to decide for ourselves. You are completing your end of the bargain, Herald. That is what you are doing.”

“I… yeah,” said Lan.

That was fine. He could focus on leading the Inquisition to safety, and think about everything else later.

They stopped early for the night. Lan sat, trying to regain his breath and calm his body, and watched the mages convince wet wood to catch fire and precarious tents being built. Though not particularly hungry, he hopped off his seat when the smell of cooked food reached his nose. He could do with something warm.

People stared as he walked. Lan forced a smile to his lips, responded to friendly waves. He found a small group gathered around Mother Giselle and stopped. She was giving a sermon, reciting the Chant into the night.

_“... In the long hours of the night_

_When hope has abandoned me,_

_I will see the stars and know_

_Your Light remains.”_

Nobody saw Lan standing quietly behind them, and he was gone before the sermon ended. He glanced up at the sky, but the stars hid behind clouds. Only a few peeked through ; too few for constellations, but enough to tell they were going in the right direction, at least. Thank you Maker for making the stars -or... something like that. Was that how people prayed? Huh. It didn’t feel very holy. He wasn’t sure which Elven god would help him here. Ghilan'nain, maybe, to show him the path...

“You’re here!”

Lan looked back down just in time to see Sera, a blanket rolled under her arm, run at him.

Lan gasped. “No! Stop!”

She skidded to a halt before him. “What?”

“I hurt everywhere. Please don’t try to lift me or punch me or anything.”

“Oh, thanks!” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid! Just happy to see you around. They didn’t even let me see you when you were in that tent!”

“You wanted to see me?”

“‘Course I did. You survived an archdemon! A freaking _archdemon_!” she squeaked. “Andraste, I don’t even know how. If you weren’t right there I wouldn’t believe it…”

Lan smiled at her. “I’m fine. Just hurting.”

“And cold,” she remarked. “Come to the fire, there’s food.”

She gently pushed him toward the source of the smell Lan had been hunting down. More people here, passing steaming bowls to each other. Blackwall saw Lan and handed him one immediately.

“Thank you…”

“You need it,” grunted Blackwall.

“How are you?” Lan asked timidly. He hadn’t talked to the man since he’d met him in the Hinterlands.

“Mostly intact,” said Blackwall. “Thanks to you.”

Lan’s ears twitched nervously. “I- yeah.”

“You showed great courage, your Worship. Facing down an archdemon like you did asks a lot.”

Lan tilted his head. “Have you ever done it?”

“Not me,” said Blackwall. “But I’ve heard the stories.”

“S’it true only a Grey Warden can kill them?” asked Sera.

“That is true.”

Was it? Lan really had to learn more about the Wardens. He was wondering whether Blackwall would hate being asked a hundred questions, when Dorian appeared by his side, Varric in tow.

“So you do eat!” remarked Dorian.

Lan looked down at the… whatever it was that his bowl contained.

“I’m considering it,” he said slowly.

“Oi, Mageybits.” Sera thrust her blanket under Dorian’s nose, holding it as far from her body as possible. “You’re faster than the fire, can you do your-- the magic thing- to dry it? Don’t burn me!” she warned.

“Are you sure?” asked Dorian as he put a hand on the blanket. “Not even a little burn?”

“You burn me, I end you.”

“Fair enough.”

Lan watched him work his magic until humidity left the cloth in thin plumes of smoke.

“You’re Mageybits?” he asked.

Dorian sighed heavily. “That, Sparkler, ‘Vint… nobody uses my name around here. I don’t think anyone _knows_ it.” He gave Lan a cursory glance. “Is your leg still paining you?”

“A bit…”

“Here!” Sera kicked a crate closer to the fire. Lan gratefully sat on it. “How’s today been?”

“Hmmm… I’m friends with Andraste, I’m leading a hundred people somewhere that’s only been seen in visions, and this-- what is this?” he asked, lifting his bowl.

“I think it’s better not to ask,” said Blackwall.

“It’s disgusting,” declared Lan, though he brought the bowl to his lips once more.

“Yeah… it’s no Orlesian petit four.”

“Whatsit-what?” asked Lan.

“Petit fours?” said Dorian. “It’s tiny cakes. I don’t understand why the Orlesians need to miniaturize their pastries, but it does taste amazing.”

Lan sifted through scattered memories. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten cake…”

“Well that’s just sad,” said Sera. “I’ll get you a cake, you’ll love it.”

Varric snickered. “Hawke nearly got herself arrested for stealing a cake, once--”

Everyone around the campfire gravitated toward the dwarf and his story. Lan slowly ate the rest of his disgusting meal as he listened to the tale of his apparent body double and his paramour getting in trouble over baked goods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Well... Lan spent several years among the Dalish, did not partake in their religion, listen to their tales, or try very hard to understand what their deal was, but he did learn how to swear and use their gods' names in anger. He's a Keeper's nightmare.  
> -Cassandra is probably not used to atheism what with Thedas being what it is... She won't force him to believe, but she won't back down from her own faith, so this is nooooot the end of Lan's religious confusion. Although he's starting to realize just how much power that gives him over people.  
> -Solas's just... doing his thing... Lan is putty in his hands.
> 
> \------------------------------
> 
> I won't have access to the Internet until next year, so the next update will be in two weeks. 
> 
> In the meantime, I wish everyone happy holidays, merry christmas to those who celebrate it, and a nice end to this year. Here's hoping 2018 will be kinder to everyone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loneliness.

Skyhold.

The place was giant, in ruins and claimed by rodents and insects.

Lan kept finding new rooms every time he took a walk. The main hall alone was bigger than Haven’s chantry had been. Lan looked out of one of the many holes in its walls. Below, the courtyard was littered with hastily-built tents housing refugees, but also newcomers here to see the holy elf, the one Andraste had dragged out of the ruins of Haven and to this secret place.

Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra were talking together next to the makeshift infirmary. Those four had been behaving oddly for a few days now. They were asking Lan his opinion on absolutely everything, as if they were suddenly unable to come up with answers on their own. Josephine had urged him to take more walks among “his” people. Cassandra had asked questions about his state of mind and his place among the Inquisition. And whenever he was out of earshot, they gathered and whispered. They were definitely planning something, and didn’t seem to care all that much that Lan was aware of it.

The advisors eventually broke their council. Lan let his eyes wander. The Bull was walking toward the infirmary with a wounded person slung over his shoulder ; Sera was entertaining two human children ; Dorian was sitting on some steps, lost in thoughts. Alone, as he nearly always was. A strand of sadness wrapped around Lan’s heart. He didn’t know how to make people realize Dorian was not a threat, that he was the only reason they still had a Herald to worship.

He turned around and stopped before a door that had previously been blocked by rubble. Curiosity made him open it, and he found himself face to face with Solas.

“Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” parotted Lan. “What are you doing?”

Solas stepped aside. The room was circular and sported a nice desk, with a few eclectic items resting on it. Veilfire danced in a receptacle against the wall.

“Your study?” asked Lan.

“Such as it is.”

“Where did you find that desk?”

“It was already here. Skyhold has changed hands many times over the years, you can find a little of everything within these walls.”

Lan raised his marked hand toward the Veilfire. It tickled the Anchor, which answered with a small zap of energy, like static electricity.

“Did you really see this place in the Fade?”

Solas nodded. “As I believe I have already told you five times, yes.”

“Yes, of course, sorry… It’s just… it’s amazing.”

Raised voices reached them from outside the castle. Lan waited a moment to see if someone was going to run in here screaming that there was an emergency, but the noise died down pretty quickly, and no screaming was heard. He turned back to Solas, who seemed unperturbed by this brief interruption.

“I wanted to thank you for leading us here.”

“It needed to be done. You do not have to thank me.”

“Yes, well… I’m the only one who can do it, since everyone else thinks Andraste guided me. Unless you’re Andraste…”

“Not as far as I am aware.”

“Then thank you.” Lan turned to leave. “And if I find a nice chair, I’ll send it your way.”

“Herald!” Cassandra was in the hall when Lan closed the door behind him. “I was looking for you. What is in there?”

“The nicest room in the castle. Solas claimed it already, sorry.”

“No matter. We have something to discuss with you.”

A slight apprehension in his step, Lan followed her as she walked slowly toward the exit.

“More and more people are coming to Skyhold every day,” Cassandra said. “This is becoming a pilgrimage.” She stopped just before stepping outside and looked Lan in the eyes. “Now, we know what pushed Corypheus to attack us.”

“He wants the Anchor.”

“That is not all he is after.”

She stepped outside. Lan followed her, and stopped abruptly as hundreds of eyes looked up at him. Cassandra turned to him.

"People follow you and have put their trust in you. We are only a threat to Corypheus as long as you are here to pull us together.”

Everyone was gathered in a crowd. They were silent, still. Waiting for him. On the platform a few steps down, Leliana stood with a long sword resting on her hands, palms up, in offering. Cassandra looked at him expectantly, almost… nervously.

Lan couldn’t help it. “Are you going to execute me?” he whispered.

Cassandra ignored him. She went down the flight of steps and Lan, fighting the urge to run into Solas’ room and ask for help, followed her, though his legs seemed to have turned to jelly.

“The Inquisition needs a Leader,” Cassandra said. 

Lan stared at her. “What are you doing?” he whispered, throwing a glance at all the people gathered below.

“Asking you to lead us in the fight against Corypheus. I am asking you to accept the title of Inquisitor.”

“Cassandra, I don’t even think I’m the Herald. Plenty of people hate me. I’m an _elf_ , you can’t _title_ me! The Chantry hates me! Everyone outside Skyhold hates me!”

“You have won over many people since we started,” said Cassandra.

“No! Not me!” hissed Lan urgently. “You and Josephine and Leliana! I didn’t do anything! You _can’t_! I don’t know how to lead anything, I don’t know how to do anything!”

“You won’t be alone,” said Leliana quietly. “We will still be here to support you, your Grace. But this Inquisition cannot continue to stand by sheer force of will. It needs a force to drive it forward. We need you to be a symbol.”

“The symbol of our will to restore order, to fight for what is right,” said Cassandra. “You said you would stay with us as long as we needed you.” She planted her eyes in his, and Lan flinched under their intensity. “We need you.”

This was madness. The air was cold but Lan felt very warm as he reached out and closed trembling fingers around the sword’s elegant hilt. Leliana smirked, then she swiftly stepped back, removing her support and leaving Lan to hold the sword all by himself. He fumbled, almost dropping it.

He turned to Cassandra with wide eyes, but she was not looking at him. She addressed the crowd.

“Have our people been told?” she shouted.

“They have,” answered Josephine below. “And soon, the world.”

“Will they follow?”

Cullen turned to the people gathered around him. “Inquisition, will you follow?” A roar shot through the crowd, electrifying the air. “Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!”

“Raise the sword,” whispered Leliana behind him.

Lan obeyed. The people shouted their elation, happy for the first time since Haven. He could feel their hopes and their relief float up toward him, and he could only stare at them. He saw Varric, who was looking at him with a pensive look on his face. He saw Dorian, who smirked when their eyes met. The man opened his mouth, then brought a hand under his chin and pushed it close. Lan got the message and closed his own mouth. He hadn’t realized he was gaping.

Cassandra was smiling contentedly. Lan caught her attention.

“Do you think I can lower my arm now? It’s really heavy.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. Lan took that as a yes.

* * *

The mad hope that this was a very bad joke kept Lan going for a while. He shook hands, followed Cassandra around like a timid pet, smiled blandly at Josephine as she gave him things to sign, then stared blandly at the papers until Josephine told him how to sign properly. He’d never signed anything in his life.

When they finally let him go, the panic that had been quietly brewing inside him, hidden behind a screen of numb compliance, finally burst out and made him run all the way up to the battlements. He reached the top and started pacing back and forth, arms hugging his middle as the cold wind slapped him in the face without mercy.

“Creators help me,” he mumbled. The humans were insane. All of them. No exception. Lan had never met an elf that was completely sane either but at least none of them had ever, _ever_ considered putting him in a position of power. 

The Anchor flared. Lan glared at his hand. “You shut up. It’s all your fault.”

“Inquisitor?”

Lan stilled. He very slowly turned around. Leliana had climbed up the stairs, and now her hooded silhouette was imprinted against the setting sun. She was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.

“That’s me,” managed to say Lan.

“Indeed, it is.”

“Why is it me? I don’t know how to lead a… thing. I don’t even know what the Inquisition is! Leliana, I just called it a ‘thing’. I can’t be Inquisitor.”

“Deep breaths, your Grace,” said Leliana, calm enough for the both of them. She came closer. “I am sorry we sprung this on you without warning. But we feared asking you in private would have made you say no without thinking about it.”

“Of course!”

“I do apologize for the surprise, but time is running short, and we could not afford to spend days trying to convince you to take the job. At least, this direct approach gave us a quick and clear answer from you. We were thinking about putting you in charge for a while,” Leliana continued as she leaned against the parapet next to Lan, “we thought we’d break the subject after you closed the Breach. Corypheus’ attack sidetracked us, but it only comforted us in our decision.”

“But-... but why?” asked Lan in a squeaky whisper. “Half of Haven died, Leliana. _I_ didn’t save them. It’s just luck that I survived- it’s all luck. I didn’t win because I’m braver or stronger or anything!”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What you are, however, is willing to step forward when it is necessary, and unwilling to abuse the faith people put in you. Inquisitor, you might not have noticed, but we have been following your orders for a while now. We have seen you triumph against unspeakable odds over and over again. Cassandra was fully expecting you to give up after Val Royeaux. Then she was expecting you to give up after Redcliffe. Then after the Fallow Mire. But you are still here.”

“I don’t need to be Inquisitor to be here! I can still be the Herald if you want, close rifts, I don’t need to be in charge!”

“Earlier,” Leliana said, “we were prepared for you to say ‘no’. You could have turned around, and left Cassandra and I alone on those steps to look at each other with this ceremonial sword between us. We knew it was a possibility. We would have let you go. But we value you, your Grace. We have chosen you because we believe you can do it.”

 _And because you believe I was chosen by Andraste_ , Lan thought without saying. He brushed a hand through his hair, and looked down into the courtyard. Torches were lit along the stones, lighting people’s faces like ghosts. If he went back on his words, what would happen to them?

“... Please, tell me you won’t leave me alone?”

“Your Grace, despite your accomplishments, I do believe Josephine would sooner cut off her own hand than leave you alone with a dignitary.”

“Yeah. Yeah, well, she should.”

Leliana’s smirk turned into a smile. “You will learn. Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine and I will be here with you, and we are not alone. You can rely on any of us as much as you need to.”

He groaned, running his hands down his face. “I was going to go to the Conclave, look quietly at what was happening, go back to the Keeper and forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything went so, so wrong…”

“Actually,” said Leliana, “this is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What? Everything going wrong? I think I’m cursed.”

Leliana shook her head. “No, not that. It’s about your Keeper.”

Lan winced. “What about her?”

“I contacted your clan, a few days after you woke up in Haven.”

Lan froze. “…Ah.”

“We needed to investigate your claims,” Leliana continued, unperturbed. “I would be a very bad spymaster if I did not vet our own Herald.”

“But I didn’t lie!”

“You did not. Your Keeper confirmed everything you told us.”

Lan let out a breath, which made Leliana lift an eyebrow.

“Were you expecting her to lie to us?”

“Oh, no,” said Lan quickly. He hesitated before adding, “Not the Keeper, anyway. She liked me, for some reason.”

“She does, indeed. She thought she had sent you to your death at the Conclave, news of your survival seemed to lift a great weight from her heart.”

“I volunteered to go to the Conclave.”

“So she said. She still felt guilty for allowing you to go alone.”

Oh. Lan frowned a little. Did Keeper Istimaethoriel really care that much about him?

“She also told my agents a few things I found surprising.” She marked a pause. “You are not First of your Clan. Nor are you Second.”

Lan gulped. “I never said I was. You assumed.”

“The Dalish only allow three mages in one clan at a time, discounting children. If you were neither First nor Second to the Keeper…”

“I was… I was just there. They kept me around because they didn’t know what to do with me.”

“Send you to another clan in need of a third mage, I would think.”

Lan scoffed. “Nobody needs this mage. I was feral for a while and the unexplained Tevinter markings scare everyone. I volunteered for the Conclave because I wanted to travel, see other places. Find somewhere I could live, an alienage or something. I was going to leave,” Lan admitted, and shame colored his cheeks despite himself. He lowered his head to hide it.

“She seemed to realize that. She asked me not to tell you that we’d been in contact, so that you would not feel any sort of obligation toward the Lavellans. Now that you are my superior, however, I have to come clean,” Leliana added.

Lan blinked. “I’m your-... I’m your superior?” His eyes widened. “Oh Maker, I’m Cassandra’s superior.”

“I’ll have to ask you not to abuse that power and force poor Cullen to run a thousand laps around the castle every morning.”

“What- I can do that?”

“You can do anything you like. You are in charge.” Leliana’s smirk grew slightly. “I have more questions, however. Your Keeper was reluctant to explain the clan’s apparent mistrust toward you. If you wouldn’t mind telling me more… if only to make sure none of them will interfere with you.”

“Interfere…” Lan rubbed his arms. “No, I don’t think they will… they didn’t like me but it’s not like they _hated_ me,” he mumbled. Leliana said nothing, her head tilted slightly, obviously trying to understand. Lan took a breath. Might as well tell her everything, before she started poking around again.

“The Tal Vashoths who got me out of Tevinter didn’t go farther down than Orlais. They left me with the Methallin Clan there. I don’t remember my time with them at all, my first clear memory is with the Lavellans, but the Methallins’ Keeper, he… he told Keeper Istimaethoriel about me when he handed me over. That I bit him when he tried to examine me, that I screamed randomly both awake and asleep, that I became dangerous if they got too close to my tattoos. That those tattoos were obviously cursed.”

Lan stopped. His head bowed, he raised his eyes to look at Leliana’s impassive face.

“That’s why they looked for another clan to take me. I think they wanted to help me but were running out of idea, so they looked for someone who was willing to take that burden off of them. They would have left me in the wild if Keeper Istimaethoriel hadn’t taken me in. She kept me even when I lashed out and scared the others off. She defended me when she didn’t have to.” Lan took a deep breath. “I was allowed to stay in the clan because the Keeper took pity on me.”

“Were there many complaints?” Leliana asked.

“Sort of. They thought I was too unstable, that I’m an easy prey for demons. I’m not,” Lan added quickly. “The Keeper confirmed it. I know how to defend my mind against possession.” Leliana nodded, but Lan wasn’t sure if it was just to placate him or if she believed him. “But, err, I didn’t really help my own case by having weird fits and being useless around the camp. So, I’m not ...popular, but they left me alone if I left them alone. They wouldn’t interfere. It’s not -it’s not animosity. It’s just apprehension, I guess.”

A silence followed his words, for a little while, until Leliana nodded.

“Thank you for being open with me, your Grace.”

“I have nothing to hide,” said Lan. “Or at least I don’t remember if I have,” he added with a humorless laugh. “Now you know everything, and um. I don’t think you can find those Tal Vashoths but you can always try to find the Methallins to get confirmation?”

“I did look for them,” said Leliana.

“Uh…”

“You are quite right about the Tal Vashoths, it would be very difficult to find them. But your Keeper mentioned the Methallins, so I looked into it.” She marked a pause. “The situation in Orlais as of late has been unstable to say the least, and elves have found themselves under fire even more than usual. The Methallins suffered a series of human raids. If there were survivors, they found refuge in other clans or they hid, and I could not track them down. I am sorry.”

Lan nodded, slowly. “I heard stories like that a lot.” He knew the Lavellans were lucky to have a pretty good relationship with the neighboring humans. He was not surprised, and had no memory of the Methallins to mourn. The only thing he knew about them was that they’d wanted to get rid of him.

“My agents are still keeping an eye on the Lavellans, however. If you do not have any objection, I would suggest keeping them under observation. People who know about your markings can be potentially dangerous.”

“Fine…” said Lan quietly. “But nobody has to know they’re being watched.”

“That is my job description.” She smiled and pushed herself off the wall. “If you have no need of me and no more questions, I have taken enough of your time. Good night, Inquisitor.”

She bowed and left. Lan stayed behind, until his gaze drifted downward and caught sight of Varric’s bright red jacket slaloming between the torches, looking for something -or someone.

Lan took a deep breath. Thinking about the Lavellans made him feel empty and disconnected. But as long as Lan was with the Inquisition… He had people. He was not alone anymore. He could just get down and start a conversation. He could ask someone to eat with him.

The loneliness of the past three years had started to feel numb after a while. Here, Lan felt a hundred things at once. Gratitude warmed him from the inside. He went back down the stairs and ran after Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya, I'm back! :) hopefully with the same regular updates as before. 
> 
> Happy new year to all of you!


	11. Chapter 11

There was a throne in the hall.

There hadn’t been a throne before Lan left for a rift-closing expedition. Now he was back, and there it was ; red and gold, the Inquisition’s eye carved into it, sitting on a polished dais and dramatically lit by the newly-restored stained glass windows behind it. Ostentatious and pompous. Lan felt uncomfortable just looking at it.

Josephine had talked about judging prisoners during a meeting, and Lan couldn’t quite remember what he’d said to that -if he even said anything, but he knew he hadn’t said ‘no’. He’d thought they would talk about it more, maybe he could name a judge. But here was the throne, and it had been brought while Lan was away which meant they did not expect to talk about it any more. Which… was his fault. He should have said what he was thinking.

His eyes went to the door leading to the cells, far under Skyhold. They only had one prisoner in here, whom Lan had not even talked to since Redcliffe. He observed that door for a minute before turning around and aiming for the library.

Dorian wasn’t there but Lan bumped into Helisma, one of the many Tranquils who had found their way to the Inquisition since Skyhold’s recent rebirth. She greeted him flatly. Lan forced himself to look her in the eyes. Her gaze was vacant and blank, but brown. Not green. Lan focused on that simple fact.

“Hello… uh, do you know Dorian Pavus?”

“I do, Inquisitor. We were only just talking.”

“What about?”

“This library is mostly barren. Neither of us can work adequately without the appropriate books.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. Would you know where Dorian is?”

“I do not. He received a letter which seemed to upset him, then left.”

Lan frowned. “Why? What did it say?”

“He did not share that information with me.”

“Right. Thank you, Helisma. Oh, you know what? Write down the books you want, I’ll see if Josephine can find them for you.”

Lan left the library with a folded piece of parchment in his pocket and continued on his quest. The rest of the castle gave him nothing, but when he stepped into the courtyard his eyes fell on the tavern. It wasn’t finished, half of it still under construction, but it didn’t stop Skyhold’s residents. Lan had only been here twice, and never alone. Bull, Sera and Varric had dragged him along, and Lan had watched everyone get drunk and wondered what was the point. But it was lunchtime now, which meant a quieter atmosphere.

Dorian was sitting alone in the corner. He was slumped on his chair, his face shadowed and his eyes staring unseeingly at his empty tankard. Lan felt his heart squeeze and his legs turned shaky.

He took care to make noise as he approached. Dorian blinked out of his thoughts and looked up at him.

“Inquisitor? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Ah. Well, I’m afraid I won’t be very good company right now. Whatever you wanted to talk about, it can wait a little.”

Dorian returned his gaze to his tankard. Lan understood he was being dismissed, but something about Dorian’s behavior made alarm bells ring in his mind. He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to breach the conversation.

“Does it refill magically if you stare at it?”

Dorian briefly closed his eyes and sighed. “Wouldn’t that be great. What do you want, Inquisitor?”

“I talked to Helisma. She said you received a letter… Sorry,” Lan added when Dorian’s eyes snapped to him.

“Why are you apologizing?” Dorian’s gaze softened. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Of course a Tranquil wouldn’t understand.”

He gestured at the seat in front of him. Lan took it, feeling very self-conscious.

“I did receive a letter,” Dorian started. “I wanted to talk to you about it once I organized my own thoughts, I suppose. Do you remember Felix, Alexius’ son?” Lan did his best to keep his expression blank when he nodded. “Well, the letter came from Tevinter. I told you he wanted to tell the Magisterium about the Inquisition and the danger brewing in the South... Felix always was as good as his word. He spoke very highly of you. I’m told it was a positively glowing testimonial.”

“Uh, really?”

“Really. I doubt it did much good, the day the Magisterium will lift a finger to help the South is not coming any time soon. But it mattered that he tried. He did _something_. He was so convinced that we could be better than we are.” Dorian’s fingers tapped against his mug. “He died. The Blight caught up with him.”

Lan’s heart sank. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Dorian shrugged. “He was sick, and thus on borrowed time anyway.” Despite the callousness of his words, his eyes remained sad and his lips downturned.

“He was a good man,” said Lan, trying to remember the young human who had helped them, rather than the bag of bones Leliana had killed in the future.

Dorian glanced at Lan. “One of the best. The Imperium needs more like him, people who put the wellbeing of others before their own... They lost a great man and they don’t even know it.”

Lan had no idea what to say. Repeating he was sorry wouldn’t help, even if it was the truth. Felix had shown incredible bravery by standing up to his father _-for_ his father.

Lan felt all his breath leave him. His father. Did his father know?

Dorian started reminiscing. With nothing else to offer, Lan listened carefully to the fond memories of a lost friend. Dorian’s only friend, as Lan understood it. It did not surprise him. Dorian did not fit the Tevinter mould, and neither had Felix.

“I would have liked to know him better,” he said quietly. “Dorian… do you need something?”

“Not really,” said Dorian dejectedly. “Not anything you can give me, in any case. It’s not like the Inquisition can get me to Tevinter in time for the funeral. I wouldn’t be allowed past the front gate anyway.”

Dorian’s hands were loosely wrapped around his tankard. Without thinking Lan reached out and curled his own hand around the Tevinter’s.

“I’m very sorry.”

“So am I,” said Dorian. He shifted in his seat, dislodging Lan’s hand as he crossed his arms on the table. “But there is nothing to be done.”

Lan took a deep breath as took his own hand back. “I… I’ll tell his father.”

“He knows,” said Dorian.

“You went?”

“Not exactly. Well, I did go, but I did not tell him myself. Your guards weren’t very amenable to letting me near him. I asked them to relay the message.”

“What are you… you were stopped?”

“You know how it is,” said Dorian airily. “You let two Tevinters talk in private and the next thing you know an archdemon is gnawing on your leg. Or something similar, I admit I stopped listening after the second insult. I’m starting to think some of your subjects genuinely think I keep those dragons in my back pocket...  I would have prefered to tell Alexius myself, but, well.”

Lan was bewildered. “Why… didn’t you tell me?”

“What for? Are you going to discipline two of your men on my account?”

“Yes!” Although he had no idea how to go about this. He could figure it out.

“I did not have the proper authorization, Inquisitor. They were only doing their job.”

“You said they insulted you.”

“That’s part of the game. I gave back twice as much as I received, be assured.”

“I could have given you the proper authorization! I would have come down with you!”

Dorian cocked his head to the side. “I… had not thought about it. Please, don’t look so aghast. I managed on my own, in the end. It simply didn’t cross my mind that you would be quite so willing to help.”

“I do want to help. If you need anything, just tell me. I don’t know what I can do but I can try.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I am fine. Right now, I don’t require anything more than another serving of whatever was in that tankard... Didn’t you say you were looking for me? What for, if you did not know about Felix?”

Lan’s insides twisted. He lowered his head.

“I… I was asked to judge Alexius.”

The silence that followed was short, but it seemed to stretch forever.

“Do you know your verdict?”

“No. I know what my options are, but…  he was your mentor, and I… I don’t know what to do.”

“The wonderful thing about being in your position is that you get to make the rules.” Dorian rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “I don’t envy you. I remember Redcliffe too vividly, and what he did to Felix-… I can’t help you. All I can ask is that you refrain from a death sentence, for Felix’s sake.”

It was strangely comforting to hear that. Dorian was right, Lan could make his own rules… Well, he was going to ask Josephine if he really could, just to be sure.

He left Dorian to nurse a newly filled tankard and went back to the library.

“Helisma, do you know the books Dorian wanted?”

* * *

Alexius was subdued as he was brought up to the throne, chained and guarded.

Lan sat awkwardly, unable to relax. Today, the eyes watching him were filled with a sort of reverent fear. He could have sworn he’d seen Dorian among the crowd earlier, but the man had seemingly disappeared between two glances.

Alexius did not even try to defend himself as Josephine read the charges against him. Lan met his eyes. He was a picture of misery, emptied of his will to live. And Lan blinked, slowly, as a strange feeling washed over him.

This was a Magister. A man who flourished in Tevinter, in a society of slave owners and blood magic, a man who had forced Varric, Cassandra and Leliana to die before Lan’s eyes. Who had betrayed Dorian’s trust and done experiments on his own son. Who had allowed red lyrium to spread and demons to overrun Thedas.

A Magister, slumped at Lan’s feet, head bowed. At his entire mercy.

“Render your judgment, Inquisitor,” said Alexius.

Lan stared at him. The rest of the crowd faded from his conscience.

A Magister’s life, and he could snuff it with just a few words. His hands clenched on the armrests. 

> _He is straddling someone, pushing them into the stone floor underneath. Magic crackles from his fingers, electricity leaves him in waves and the person under him writhes in pain._
> 
> _“Fight me!” he pleads. “Fight!”_
> 
> _They don’t. Lan sends more electricity. He just wants them to react, to fight back, if only a little. He needs a reason for what he's about to do, something to assuage his conscience and muzzle the guilt._
> 
> _But they won't. Their sword is in their hand but they won't use it. Lan still can’t let them live._
> 
> _"I'm sorry," he whispers as h_ _e moves a hand to the person’s heart. Enough electricity should do it. Quick and painless._
> 
> _Lan grits his teeth and forces himself to look them in the eyes--_

“Inquisitor?”

He startled, looking up at Josephine. The rest of the world came back to him, chasing away the memory. A hush had fallen over the hall as people waited for his verdict.

Lan’s heart was beating loudly in his ears and his markings were buzzing, vaguely painful. Nothing compared to the headache suddenly splitting his forehead, as if someone had taken an iron bar and hit him in the face.

Everyone’s eyes were on him. He gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white to stop himself from shaking. Grey eyes suddenly caught his attention in the crowd. Dorian, looking at him under a slight frown. 

Lan straightened. He took a deep breath and scrambled to remember the things he’d wanted to say

“The magic you used in Redcliffe should have been impossible.” His voice echoed in the hall, amplifying his words, and he forced himself not to flinch from it. “Your knowledge and your abilities would be useful to us. I sentence you to serve, under guard, as a researcher for the Inquisition.”

A low murmur went through the crowd. Alexius was dragged out of the hall. Lan all but jumped out of the throne and hurried to his quarters, slamming the door shut behind him. The room was big, and nearly empty save for an overly comfortable bed, and Lan hated it wholeheartedly. He started pacing, hands clasped together against his breastbone.

The memory was still there. It was fading but it was there. Who had been that person under him? What had he done? Had he killed them? Oh Maker, had he killed someone defenseless? What was _wrong_ with him?

He’d never wanted to kill anyone in his life. Not even in that future Redcliffe, he had not enjoyed battling Alexius! ...Had he? No. He hadn’t. He did want to kill Corypheus but not torture him. He’d tortured whoever that had been in his memory. He’d tortured someone with magic. He wanted to vomit.

He ran to the balcony, wrenching the doors open so he could step into the freezing cold air. He sat on the ground and brought his knees to his chest, head in his hand as he let the wind whip him. His markings tingled uncomfortably. Lan scratched his arms until it burned. He couldn’t remember that person. Not their face, not the color of their eyes nor the shape of their ears. He could only remember the frantic beating of their heart under his fingers and the twitching of their muscles as they writhed in pain.

Why? Why would he ever do that? Whoever he had been before losing his memories could not be that different from whoever he was right now!

He gasped as a thought ran through him. He jumped to his feet and hurried out of the room and back to the main hall, where people were excitedly discussing Alexius’ verdict. Lan zeroed in on Varric.

“So. Research, huh?” said the dwarf as Lan reached him. “Good for the Inquisition.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah, sure- whoa!”

Lan grabbed Varric by the shoulder and pushed him toward Josephine’s unoccupied office.

“You can just ask you know,” said Varric. Lan whirled toward him, and Varric frowned. “You all right?”

Lan fell to his knees, and pulled the dwarf into a hug. Varric swore quite loudly but Lan held on.

"You're freezing cold!" 

“Please," Lan pleaded. "Just a second. Just- just a second...”

There was a long-suffering sigh. Varric relaxed. He patted Lan on the back.

“You know dwarves aren’t toys, right?”

“Sorry.” Lan released him. “I just…”

“Yeah, I get it. Not a fan of judging.”

“It’s not that.”

“You liked it?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” said Varric, patting him on the arm. “Now, take a breath and explain to uncle Varric what’s going on in that angular head of yours.”

_I tortured someone and then killed them._

“I have a question about Fenris. He was a bodyguard.”

“Yeah.”

“So he killed a lot of people. For his master. He must have killed a lot.”

“Well... By the time I met him, he'd clearly had a lot of practice ripping people's heart out of their chest.”

Lan wrung his hands together. “Lyrium made him a better fighter.”

“Better than what?” asked Varric. “He wasn’t a weakling before. Danarius was looking for a prime specimen to experiment on. Where’s that coming from, Pointy?”

“Nowhere,” said Lan. “Just- I…” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to kill Alexius.”

Varric’s eyebrows went up on his forehead. “Yeah? Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Me neither. Fenedhis…” Lan folded on himself, bringing his forehead to his knees..

“Hey.” Varric’s hand was on his back. “You’re angry. It’s normal after what you’ve been through. Just because people think you’re some kind of holy decision maker, doesn’t mean you can’t feel something wrong once in a while.”

“I don’t want to feel that!” protested Lan. “It’s not… I’m not… I can’t _want_ to hurt people, that’s not normal!”

“It’s part of life, Pointy. You can’t go through it being a radiant light of goodness all the time. Everyone has dark urges. What matters is that you didn’t follow through.”

Lan choked out a laugh. Dark urges. Right. He hadn’t stopped himself because he’d realized it was the right thing to do, he’d stopped himself because he’d promised Dorian and because the memory had disturbed him enough to--…

What had been in that memory? He closed his eyes, tried to focus on it. Him standing over someone else. Fighting? Crap, it was already fading.

“Look,” said Varric. “You’re allowed to be angry at Alexius. Shit, you’re allowed to be angry at the whole Imperium and everyone who’s ever been a Magister since the dawn of time. But you didn’t let it blind you.”

Slowly, Lan nodded. He just wanted to tell Varric about this memory before it disappeared completely. Like all the others, in a few days it would have faded away and only left behind a foreboding feeling that something detestable had happened. The one and only memory that stayed were those vacant green eyes that sometimes flashed in his mind.

“What’s that got to do with Fenris?” asked Varric.

Lan shrugged. “Just thinking. Maybe I was used to killing, before… you know. Before I forgot. If Fenris got his tattoos to make him a better fighter, maybe I did too. And if someone wants to make me a better fighter, it’s so I can… kill.”

Varric looked at him a moment. “Pointy, you’re not a killer.”

“You don’t know that. I don’t even know that.”

“I do know that. I’ve met a lot of killers, believe me. Every possible kind of killer this wonderful world has to offer. You’re not one of them.”

“Varric, I’ve been killing people since the Inquisition started.”

“So have I, and unless you suddenly turned into a great liar, you’re not scared of me. Pointy, you’re worried you’ll turn into a bloodthirsty killing machine just because you felt a little bit empowered when you looked a Magister in the eye. You’re being ridiculous.”

Not just because of that, Lan thought. He opened his mouth, took a breath, and… stopped. 

“Yeah,” he said instead, defeated.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Stop mopping. Come on, get up. Let’s go take a walk.”

“Where?” asked Lan as he stood.

“You know that kid, Cole? I saw him lurk around the kitchens and I really want to know what he was doing. You’ll get something to eat while we’re there, can't hurt ya."

“Why is everyone saying that,” grumbled Lan. “I’m not that thin.”

“I can use your arms to knit myself a sweater.”

Lan followed Varric out, pushing his negative thoughts aside for the time being. In a few hours, all the details of this memory would have faded. He would be all right then.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of lyrium.

> _Paralyzed, naked, cold. Eyes straining to see anything in the darkness. Whispers, a hundred of them, a whole chorus._
> 
> _And another voice, louder, clearer._
> 
> _I am willing to give you one last chance._
> 
> _You are only alive because I allow it-_
> 
> _Do not forget this-_
> 
> _Do not fail them._

Lan flew awake, thrashing in panic. He pulled his limbs to himself, convinced chains and shackles would be restraining them, but they came to him freely.

He rolled over, out of his bedroll and onto the frozen ground. A cold sensation on the back of his neck made him twitch. The ghastly feeling of being watched by invisible eyes pressed down on him. He looked around but there was nothing, except the cloth of his tent. Lan scrambled to his feet and ran outside.

The white landscape of the Emprise du Lion greeted him as the wind robbed his body of what little warmth it still held. Night was swallowing the details, even to Lan’s elven eyes, but he could still make out peaks of red lyrium in the distance. And its persistent song was singing in Lan’s head, a chorus of whispers just low enough that he feared he would hear words if he paid attention. He tried not to.

“Pointy?”

Lan looked around. Varric was on watch duty, sitting by a timid fire with Bianca ready by his side.

“Need something?”

“Uh. No. Just… had a nightmare.”

“I thought you didn’t remember your dreams.”

“I don’t. But there’s a lingering… disgusting feeling.”

Lan shivered and approached the fire, rubbing his arms as the markings tingled. Varric poked the embers with a stick, waking up the flames. Lan sat by his side.

“We’ve been here three days now,” said Varric. “You’re still hanging on?”

“Hmm.”

Lan had heard the scouts’ reports before leaving Skyhold, he’d been ready for the abundance of lyrium. He remembered how it felt from Redcliffe and Haven, enough that he was able to bear it if he gritted his teeth. But he hadn’t realized what hearing that song _constantly_ could mean, following his every step like a curse. Hearing the whispers it carried, incomprehensible but maddening.

It permeated this place. From far away, it was an almost polite scratch, meekly asking to be let in. But the closer he got to a crystal, the louder it became ; and in the Emprise, back away from one crystal and you’ll hit another. And that song filtered, through the tortured bodies of the red templars that kept popping up, sounded even worse, angrier and almost frenzied.

“Your skin okay in this environment?” asked Varric, lifting a conspiratorial eyebrow.

“It feels wrong. Did Fenris ever feel wrong around red lyrium?”

“Everyone feels wrong around red lyrium. But if he felt worse, he never told me. He’s also much better at this whole lyrium thing than you are.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Lan conjured the smallest fireball and let it rest in his palm.

It was the size of a pebble, too small to bring warmth, but it was pretty. He juggled it between his fingers, let it roll along his knuckles like one might with a coin. He’d seen Dorian do this trick a few times and wasn’t half-proud to have managed to replicate it all on his own.

“I can always invent an excuse to get you out of here. I can be very convincing.”

“Thanks, Varric. But we need to find the missing people from Sahrnia before the templars hurt them.”

“The permanent camps aren’t that far, we have twenty soldiers to send in your place if you want to turn around.”

Lan shook his head. “I don’t want to expose more of our people to that lyrium if I can avoid it.”

Varric grinned. “How long has it been since you became Inquisitor? A couple of months?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re starting to sound like a real leader. A few more months and we’ll make someone out of you!”

Lan snorted. “Never.”

Varric yawned. Lan closed his hand, snuffing out the fireball, and stretched his stiff limbs.

“You can go to sleep if you want,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

“You sure?”

“It’s almost sunrise anyway, and I slept well enough before… whatever woke me up. I’ll be fine.”

Varric nodded and stood. He started walking to his tent, then stopped and turned around. “Hey, Pointy… I was thinking. What if you wrote to Fenris?”

“What? Why? What would I say to him?”

“Yeah you’re right,” said Varric dryly, “it’s so hard to think about a single thing the two of you could talk about.”

Lan scowled. “You said you didn’t know where he was.”

“I did say that. I’m just asking a question.”

“I don’t want to write to him Varric. I don’t know him.”

“All right.” Varric paused briefly. “So I guess meeting him in person would also weird you out.”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

Lan watched the dwarf retreat. “Why?... Varric! The Inquisitor asked you a question!”

But Varric was already inside his tent and pretended not to hear him.

* * *

A Behemoth.

A templar so far gone that it was more lyrium than human, more monster than man. It was giant, and it stood before a cage full of terrified humans at the bottom of a quarry thought abandoned. It was surrounded by four other red templars, and it was faster than expected.

Lan managed to make barriers for everyone just in time, though not nearly strong enough. Dorian and Bull were swatted to the side like annoying mosquitoes while Varric only just managed to roll out of the way and Lan had thrown himself to the ground.

The other templars came for them. Lan darted to the side and ran to the cage. The lock seemed unbreakable and there was no time to try. Instead Lan conjured the strongest barrier he could to cover it entirely, then turned back to the fight.

The Bull was keeping the Behemoth distracted, Varric was climbing up the scaffolding while avoiding arrows, and Dorian was engaged with three templars at the same time. Whatever remained of their anti-mage training made them try to get closer, break through Dorian’s defences and get right in his face. They believed him like most Southern mages, unable to defend himself in close quarters combat.

Lan called electricity to his fingertips and sent it to one of the templars. It hit its target and stilled his muscles. A burst of necrotic energy from Dorian had the templar fall over, dead. The air above the corpse shimmered briefly, and the flickering image of a spirit appeared, very vaguely human-shaped and only barely visible.

The other templars kept coming and Dorian changed his posture, clutching his staff in both hands and dropping the magic. The moment the templars were close enough, Dorian swung his staff’s blade into their faces in quick succession, then dropped low and tripped one of them into the snow. He sprung back up and with a precise twirl of his staff, had the other one down as well and the first one stabbed through a gap in his armor.

A quick flick of his fingers and the spirit from earlier flew toward the last templar still alive. It wrapped around his body like a snake, holding him down and apparently draining life from him until he stilled. Dorian straightened, nonchalant, and his fingers drew a purple sigil in the air. The lingering spirit was dismissed back to the Fade.

A warning shout made Lan whirl around. The Bull wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore and the Behemoth was running right for him.

Lan felt himself shrink with fear even as his instincts had him releasing more energy into his barrier. The Behemoth hit it hard. It rippled and crackled, bits of arcane energy flying off in every direction. The monster bore down on it with more force than Lan was prepared for and the barrier shattered.

A fist caught Lan in the ribs and sent him flying. He somehow managed to twist in the air and sprung a new barrier around his body just before he hit the ground. It wasn’t stable enough to absorb the impact but it stopped a shard of red lyrium from cutting into Lan’s skin.

The Behemoth ran at him. Lan sent electricity through the ice-covered ground. It hit the monster, slowed it down without stopping it. Lan waited until the last moment to throw a force spell at the wall of rock behind him. It propelled him forward, making him slide on the ice as the wall exploded and rained down on the Behemoth.

Lan scrambled to get up. He raised both hands and called all the fire the Fade could lend him. A pillar of flames hit the Behemoth in the back. The monster screamed, and suddenly there was Bull, jumping at the Behemoth as if out of nowhere and swinging his axe. It hit true and chipped a great chunk out of the monster’s arm.

The Bull adjusted his grip on his weapon as the monster turned around. It swung at Bull, who met the attack head-on. Lan heard the impact echo against the walls of the quarry. He quickly sprung a barrier around Bull and ran to the side. Once he had a clear view of the wound the Bull had just made, he sent ice into it. The Behemoth’s whole arm froze in a second. Bull sent his axe into it, and the arm fell off.

A crossbow bolt hit the monster in the face. It recoiled. Lan used that small moment to look around. Varric was up on the scaffolding and was aiming another shot. In the cage, the villagers cowered in fear. Lan gasped for breaths, his lungs straining for air, muscles burning with exhaustion. Where was Dorian?

“BOSS!”

Lan whirled around, and the Behemoth’s one remaining fist hit him in the face. 

The red lyrium’s song swelled. It invaded his whole body, ran through his markings like poison. It split his head in half and wrapped around his heart like a vice.

He didn’t feel himself hit the ground or skid along the ice. He didn’t hear anything else but the song for some time -how much time? He didn’t know. He lost everything, until suddenly the real world slammed back into him as hard as the Behemoth’s fist had. He blinked at Dorian’s face, looking down at him with a frown. Lan’s ears were ringing. His mouth felt slimy, and the aftertaste of elfroot weighed on his tongue. There were fingers on his cheek, prodding at a painful spot.

“It didn’t cut the skin,” said Dorian as the fingers retracted. “He’s lucky.”

A triumphant shout made Lan look to his right. Behind the twisted corpse of the Behemoth, which a powerful spell had encased in ice, was Varric who had just picked the lock on the cage. The dwarf opened the door and coaxed the terrified villagers out.

The Bull’s deep voice rumbled. “Hey, Boss! How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Huh?” Lan tried to focus on the hand before his eyes. “... two or three?”

Bull shrugged. “Close enough. Do you think you can sit up?”

Lan had no idea, but then Bull and Dorian didn’t wait for his answer before pulling him upright. The world spun. The song swam in his mind, like a ship on a rolling sea.

“It wasn’t just luck,” said Dorian. “Your barrier caught some of that hit for you.”

“Barrier… oh, right.” He’d had a barrier up, a small one. He brought his fingers to his cheek, feeling the bruise there. “It didn’t cut through?”

“You’re intact,” said Dorian. “Somehow.”

“Never take your eyes off the enemy, Boss. That’s the first rule.”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to see if someone needed help.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, well…” Lan looked at the villagers, whom Varric had gathered in a corner. “I need to talk to them.”

They helped him to his feet. Lan walked over as steadily as he could.

“Inquisitor!” exclaimed one of the men. “Thank you! Thank you so much for coming to save us!”

“Of course we came,” said Lan. “Why did the Templars take you?”

“They were going to turn us,” said a petite woman, face white as the snow with fear and sickness. “Into- into these lyrium… farms. They take us and make us eat the stuff until it grows out of us. I saw it happen…” she trailed off, bowing her head.

Lan swallowed down a surge of nausea. He took the woman’s hand in his, cradling her frozen fingers in his gloves, trying to give her some warmth, or comfort, or _something_.

“I am… I’m so sorry.”

“We aren’t the only ones,” said someone else. “They took so many of us. There’s other quarries, all around, and they have other cages! You have to help them!”

“Right. Okay.” Lan licked his dry lips, took a shaky breath. “There’s an Inquisition camp about a day’s walk away. They’ll take care of you there, get you back to your families. Dorian, if you could make them torches and dry their clothes...”

“Right away.”

Varric and the Bull came back to him with letters in their hands. “Boss, take a look at that.”

Lan tried, but reading anything asked for more focus than he was able to spare right now. He recognised some easy words but his sluggish mind refused to translate them into anything meaningful. He was about to swallow his shame and ask when Bull came to his rescue.

“Orders, signed by a man named Samson.”

“He was in Kirkwall,” Varric continued. “He’s a disgraced templar, I’m pretty sure Curly knows him personally. And now he’s running a little lyrium-farming business for Corypheus.”

“Looks like he’s pretty high up, too.”

Lan folded the letters and turned to one of the villagers. “Could you take these with you? Once you reach the camp, ask them to send it all to Commander Cullen.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Thank you. Bull, give them any weapon you can find and tell them how to reach the camp.”

“Yes, boss.”

Lan watched them walk away. He touched the bruise on his cheek once more. The song refused to give him a single second of respite. An uneasy feeling weighed on the back of his neck, but when he turned around, there was nothing to see but rock and snow and the dead templars. One of them had lost his helmet, and his lifeless eyes seemed to stare at Lan.

“We could stay here for tonight,” said Dorian by his side. “Seems like the area is pretty secure.”

Lan shook his head. He shouldered his staff, ignoring the ache in his ribs, and looked behind him once more. Shadows were moving as clouds passed above their heads.

“No, we can’t. If there’s more people in cages we need to get to them as soon as possible.”

“We don’t know where they are.”

“We’ll look for them.”

“Until when? It’s already late afternoon, what if we can’t find anything before nightfall? Your elven eyes might give you an advantage, but I would prefer not to fight another one of those-” Dorian tilted his head toward the Behemoth, “in darkness.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“Here specifically? Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Safest place we’ve come across all day.”

Lan spun around. “I said _no_!” he barked, fists clenched.

Dorian lifted an eyebrow. Lan stilled. His shout came back to him as it echoed against the walls of the quarry.

“I-... I’m sorry,” he said quickly, mortified. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I-... I’m sorry, I have no right to yell at you.”

“You need to rest, Inquisitor,” said Dorian, far more gently than Lan deserved. “We all do. Pushing ourselves until we fall is useless.”

Lan hadn’t really seen Dorian up close since they’d left Skyhold. Grime and melted snow covered his face ; his eyes were framed by pinched eyebrows above and dark circles under. He was paler too, his skin had an unhealthy grey tint. The lyrium was pulling on everyone’s nerves, but Dorian had to feel it harder than Bull or Varric.

Lan looked around. The quarry really was easily defensible, and at least here they were protected from the wind.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. We can rest here. Just--... just ask Bull to get rid of the bodies.”

Lan was so tired that he felt like he’d only blinked and suddenly there were tents and he was sitting by a fire. He stared at the flames, trying to find a way to shut out the song and the headache growing behind his eyes. Also, trying to determine whether the tips of his ears were dead or not. The wind was not kind to unprotected extremities.

He didn’t notice Dorian’s presence until the Tevinter prodded him in the arm. Lan started.

“What? Sorry. What?”

“Dinner, Inquisitor.”

“Oh. I’m not hungry.” He returned his eyes to the flames.

“I understand. Whatever that gruel the Bull made, it looks horrible. But it’s warm, at least.”

Lan grunted something vaguely negative, hoping to be left alone. Dorian clicked his tongue. He sat next to Lan and handed him a steaming bowl.

“Eat,” Dorian ordered.

Lan took the bowl between shaking fingers. He glanced at Dorian, who was patiently waiting, and he brought the bowl to his lips and took a mouthful, forcing it down his gullet.

“See?” said Dorian, victorious. “Not so bad, is it?”

“My tongue is too cold to taste anything.”

“That’s not the cold, that’s just southern cuisine. The moment I crossed the Nevarran border, everything suddenly turned bland and tasteless... If only Skyhold had access to anything a little more exciting than apples. I could make something that would amaze and regale you.”

“You can cook?”

“I am a man of many talents, Inquisitor. Ah, I miss spices,” Dorian sighed, wistful. “I don’t understand how you can be all right with eating mush every single day.”

Lan shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

“That’s a tragedy,” affirmed Dorian. “Everyone should care about good food. Don’t you have a favorite meal?”

“Uh… No,” said Lan truthfully. He’d never even thought about having a favorite food. He just ate whatever he was given when he needed to, even if it tasted horrible, and then moved on to something else.

“You are strangely removed from your own desires, Inquisitor. That can’t be healthy. You need to enjoy yourself a little.”

“I enjoy plenty of things,” Lan said defensively.

A glint caught his eyes. Dorian had set his staff across his knees and the blade reflected the light of the fire.

“It’s cracked again,” noticed Lan.

“Hmmm? Ah, yes. I do go through these frightfully quickly.”

“That’s because you keep hitting the templars with it.” Lan ran his fingers along the metal. “It’s a light blade, it’s not supposed to be used against armor.”

“Know a lot about staffs, do you?”

“Enough. I made mine and it’s still intact.”

“You made it?” repeated Dorian. “Well. Aren’t you handy.”

“I have many talents,” echoed Lan with a small smile.

“Apparently so.” Dorian returned the smile. “Blades here are a lot flimsier than in Tevinter. Your mages don’t really learn to defend themselves without magic, do they...”

“ _My_ mages can learn whatever they want,” said Lan.

Dorian nodded. “Yes. The Inquisition has done some good.”

“You know, we have obsidian back at Skyhold, perhaps I can make you something sturdier…”

“Oh no, don’t bother. I’ll find a way to break it again.”

“Well… use magic then. Stop hitting giant templars.”

“Aw, that’s not fun.”

Lan tilted his head. “You called a spirit, earlier. You made it fight.”

“Yes, I did. You don’t need to make that face, it’s not that remarkable. It’s very common in Tevinter, spirits help us every day… and necromancy tends to attract them naturally.”

“But… do you know what kind of spirit it was? Why did it help you?”

“I didn’t pick and choose, no,” said Dorian. “Didn’t really have the time. It was a low grade spirit, one weak enough to be pulled through the Veil with minimum effort and stay under my thrall even if I’m distracted.”

“So you forced it to help.”

“It doesn’t have a conscience, Lan,” said Dorian with a sigh. “Don’t go all Solas on me.”

“I’m not. Sorry. I’m just curious.” Lan paused. “Wait. Does Solas bother you about this?”

“He tries, poor dear.”

Lan chuckled. “You’re not bothered by much, are you.”

“Well… Solas is a very capable mage and possesses an incredible wealth of knowledge, but he also has enough chips on his shoulder to make himself a coat out of them all. It takes a little more than barbed digs from a disgruntled elf to take me down.”

Lan laughed again. Slowly, he drained the tasteless mush from his bowl.

“If one of your ears falls off,” said Dorian after a small silence, “can I pick it up?”

“Huh?”

“I’m guessing in a few years people will pay good money to see it. A relic from the Herald of Andraste himself. I can build a whole church around it.” Lan stared stupidly, and Dorian grinned. “You keep flexing your ears. They’re frozen, aren’t they?”

Lan’s hand reflexively went to his ear. He didn’t feel anything when he touched it.

“A… little.”

“May I?”

Dorian pulled off his gloves, and covered Lan’s ears with his hands. Not a second later, a wave of warmth ran through them. It trickled down Lan’s entire body, chased away the headache, and even the red lyrium’s song seemed to recede. Lan couldn’t stop himself from moaning in relief. Dorian chuckled, fingers lingering on the very tip of Lan’s ears, which twitched in response.

“These really aren’t practical for cold weather.”

“Yeah, well... “ Lan took the tip of an ear between index and thumb, testing the feeling. “I’ll just cut them off. Should be pretty easy.”

The silence that followed his words made Lan look up. Dorian was staring at him.

“What? I’m kidding.”

Dorian blinked. “I suspected as much. But you have a surprisingly straight face.”

“Do I? Everyone keeps telling me I can’t lie.”

“Oh you can’t,” said Dorian, as if he’d been observing Lan closely enough to know, “but you are apparently capable of telling atrocious jokes without breaking a sweat.”

“Why would you think I’d cut my ears off? It’s ridiculous.”

“I have no idea,” said Dorian with a shrug. “You have a very pronounced masochistic side. You did volunteer to come here, in the middle of all this red lyrium, after all.”

“So did you!”

“But it doesn’t affect me quite like it affects you, does it?”

Lan lowered his eyes and bit his lips. His silence was an answer by itself, but it did tell Dorian that his line of questioning wasn’t welcome. The man sighed.

“Come find me if any other bit of you threatens to fall off. Good night, Inquisitor.”

And Lan was left alone by the fire. His headache was coming back.

* * *

> _Paralyzed, naked, cold. Eyes straining to see anything in the darkness. Icy tendrils of panic burned inside him. His heart was beating hard, his blood roaring with fear as a man dressed in red came closer, a knife in his hand._
> 
> _“If you flinch… if you scream. If you move a single finger… this will all have been for nothing.”_
> 
> _The man slipped out of view. Lan heard shuffling._
> 
> _“I hope you understand this is your last chance to redeem yourself. Make me proud, and all will be forgiven. Fail, and I will have to find another willing subject… and I think we both know you do not want that.”_
> 
> _A pause. Lan was terrified of doing anything more than breathe. He closed his eyes and tightened his fists, feeling the bite of the shackles around his wrists._
> 
> _“You were ready to kill to be here. Do not forget this,” said the voice, and--_
> 
> _Searing agony swallowed him whole, shredded his muscles, flooded his veins. The urge to scream crushed his lungs and strangled his throat._
> 
> _Something pushed under his skin. It burst out of him with violence, a wave of force that pushed the silhouette far away. He heard a frustrated scream._

“Inquisitor! Lan! Maker, is this… lyrium?”

“Move, Sparkler.”

“He has lyrium in his skin!”

“I know! Let me through!”

Lan choked on his own breaths. Hands touched him hesitantly and agony fired up in him once more.

“What the fuck kind of magic is _that_?”

“Varric-!”

“Pointy? You hear me?”

Lan coughed. Sweat poured into his eyes and turned the world into flashes of light and colors.

“Pointy?”

Someone touched him. Lan lashed out with magic and heard a curse. He couldn’t go through this again, he couldn’t feel that pain again, he couldn’t let them-

He sprang to his feet, slid and fell on all fours.

“Shit- grab him!”

> _Don’t hurt me, please leave me alone, I can’t do it, I’m sorry, I thought I could, I can’t do it, please forgive me-_

Electricity burst out of him. He heard pained cries and he scrambled, out of the tent, away from the silhouettes and the voices and the touches.

He heard the heavy footsteps of someone running after him. He was tired and aching, slow to react and they caught him easily. Arms hard as stone circled his torso and brought him to a halt. He screamed in fear and pain. Sparks of electricity ran along his skin and his assailant grunted.

“Boss, calm down. It’s okay. You’re okay. _You’re okay._ ”

A large hand settled on the top of his head. Heavy, warm. Safe.

> _"There, there, Tiny Elf."_

Lan stopped struggling. The body around him relaxed its hold ever so slightly, and allowed him to slump against a solid chest behind him. Lan blinked. He looked up, and the Iron Bull’s single eye looked back at him.

“You with me?” asked the Qunari.

Bull was kneeling in the snow, and had made Lan more or less sit in his lap while he kept the elf in a secure hold against his chest. Lan’s shirt was open and a blue-ish glow made him look down. His tattoos were alight.

“No… No, no, no-” He fought against the Bull’s hold, rubbed his tattoos to make them stop, just stop-

“Pointy, listen to me! Lan!” Lan’s eyes snapped to Varric, suddenly standing before him. “Are they hurting?” asked Varric urgently.

Lan had to think about it. Something was hurting. His hand was hurting. He tried to raise it but Varric caught it and set it down again.

“Yes, the Anchor’s flaring. Your markings? Are they hurting?” Lan nodded. They pulsed. “Stop it,” scolded Varric when Lan’s hands twitched, itching to rub the tattoos again.

“Is he all right?” Dorian came into view as well, dishevelled and worried. His eyes slipped to Lan’s torso.

Lan instinctively hunched over to hide himself and Dorian startled out of his thought.

“Sorry. I’m not- I... “ Dorian looked at Varric. “I have nothing. Varric?”

“Pointy? You all right?”

“I want it to stop.” Lan’s voice came out in a gurgle.

“Okay, listen. I’m pretty sure you need to calm down first. Get a hold of your breathing before you pass out.”

Lan shut his eyes. He felt a cloak being pulled around his shoulders, and the Bull’s large hand settled on the top of his head once more, a reassuring weight to keep him grounded.

Breathe in slowly.

Under control.

What had just happened? He had no idea. Some kind of memory- or a nightmare, or a hallucination, or all of it at the same time. The ghost of some terrible agony was running through his markings. He was in the Emprise, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by red lyrium and Templars… and he’d just tried to run away like an idiot.

He felt shaky and weak, but at last his nerves settled. When he looked up again, the other three were talking. He’d missed some bits of conversation.

“I did read your book, Varric,” was saying Dorian, “but reading and believing are two very different things. And, one more thing that I think is quite an important detail _-he’s not Fenris_!”

“Ah, that’s it,” said the Bull. “Fenris. That was his name.”

“You read my book too?” asked Varric in surprise.

“The Ben Hassrath was very interested in Kirkwall, surprise surprise. The glowy elf raised a few eyebrows among my superiors. Fucking Vints and their experiments…”

Dorian’s mouth thinned. “Why keep it quiet, Varric?”

“What, you think we can just tell the world and his hundreds of enemies that he has a weak spot?”

“You could have told me, at least! I can help! It is literally _torturing him_ ,” Dorian hissed. “How can you leave him like this?”

“Hey, we’re doing what we can. Chuckles has been looking after him.”

“Obviously not well enough.”

Lan coughed out a laugh that made everyone look at him in alarm.

“I’m… fine,” Lan mumbled.

Nobody believed that, but they had the decency not to say it.

“Boss, if I let you go…”

“I won’t run,” said Lan meekly. “I’m sorry.”

The Bull opened his arms. Lan shakily managed to get his feet under him and stand in the snow. He shivered, pulled the cloak tighter around himself.

“Wanna tell us what happened to you?” asked the Bull

“I-I was dreaming and then… I don’t know.”

“An interesting dream,” remarked Dorian dryly.

Shame flooded Lan from head to toe. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt anyone?”

“Not too seriously,” said Varric. “Don’t worry about that.”

“What happened?” asked Dorian.

Lan closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” repeated Dorian flatly.

“No, I don’t know,” bit out Lan between clenched teeth. “These markings just- act up. I don’t know. Nobody knows. It’s just there, and sometimes it hurts, and--...” Lan raised his clenched fist, a green light pulsing around it. “And _that_ messes with everything.”

“It is a direct connection to the Fade,” said Dorian thoughtfully, “and your tattoos are lyrium. Quite logical that they would react. But they don’t look complete...”

“Sparkler,” interrupted Varric with a bite in his voice, “maybe not right now?”

For a moment there was only silence, before Varric shifted.

“We’ll get you back to Skyhold tomorrow.”

“What? No! Varric, I can’t-”

“Lan,” cut in Dorian, “if red lyrium is as virulent as we suspect, it could be connecting with the lyrium in your skin. You can’t continue.”

“But the prisoners! We haven’t found all of them!”

“And how are you going to find them when you’re writhing on the floor?” said Varric. “Might alert every red templars in the area, but I doubt it’s gonna help anyone an awful lot.”

“Tell you what,” said Bull. “I’ll stay. I can fetch soldiers from the permanent camp and come back. We’ll look for the others.”

“The closest camp is an entire day away! It’ll take too much time!”

“Pointy. You want to experience whatever that was again? Really?”

Lan didn’t answer. He followed listlessly when Varric put a hand in the small of his back and pushed him back toward the tents.

“It’s gonna be all right. We’ll get Chuckles to take a look at you.”

If only Solas knew anything about this shit, thought Lan. But nobody knew. He was losing control over his mind and body, and nobody could tell him why.

* * *

 Lan was pitiful when they entered Skyhold. The same nightmare had invaded the few hours of sleep he’d managed to catch during the trip, he knew Bull would not get to the prisoners in time, and to make everything worse, Dorian had been purposefully keeping his distances.

Leliana received him and immediately sent him to Solas in a tone that brokered no discussion. Lan wondered why she hadn’t been Inquisitor.

He was used to the feeling of Solas’ magic travelling along his markings, enough that he noticed immediately when it changed, became sharper. He twisted on the bed to look at the elf over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Testing a theory,” said Solas. “Have you ever felt the need to drink a lyrium potion?”

“… no.”

“Cast a spell. Anything you like.”

Lan obliged. The moment the barrier manifested, Solas’ magic sunk into him, and something rose to meet it. Power, raw and untamed, rushed through Lan, out of control, and his markings lit up with a light bright as the Fade itself.

Lan screamed, muscles spasming as he tried to run away from this. It stopped abruptly, and Lan’s body fell limp as if someone had cut his strings. Solas grabbed his shoulders before he could topple off the bed.

“What’s happening?” he gasped, twitching.

“I stimulated your markings,” said Solas. “It seems they are not as broken as I once thought.”

Lan wrenched himself out of Solas’ touch. “But-... but you said-... you said it didn’t work. You said the pathways weren’t whole!”

“Obviously, they are repairing themselves,” said Solas, much too calmly. “They activated once after Haven, then again the other night. They are getting stronger.”

“No… no, you said I was safe, Solas!”

“You are safe, Da’len,” said Solas kindly. “If you have never felt the need to drink lyrium in your remembered life, it is possible your body has been borrowing power from your markings since the very beginning. It was simply too small to detect. If my theory is correct, the Anchor bridges the gaps that the failed ritual left behind. All it means is that the same connection you used before has been strengthened. Nothing else. And even then, the day where you will be able to activate your markings at will is not coming any time soon.”

That didn’t mean much to Lan. “The spell… there’s a spell inside, what if the Anchor-”

“Nothing changed,” Solas repeated, more forcefully. “The spells inside your markings are still dormant and the only way to awaken them is to rework them from the inside. The lyrium getting stronger has nothing to do with it.”

Solas gestured at him to sit up. Lan obeyed, his muscles still twitching with the memory of that power boost.

“The lyrium in your brands remains pure and your trip to the Emprise did nothing to taint it. I would suggest you stay clear of red lyrium from now on, however. It stands to reason you would be more susceptible to its corruption than most.”

Solas handed Lan his shirt. He quickly pulled it over his head.

“But I’m still me? You’re sure about it?”

“You are still your own person,” said Solas.

“Because the memories… and the nightmares… and I attacked the others, Solas.”

Solas’s eyebrows pulled together. “I do not think this is linked to the lyrium.”

Lan paused. “You’re saying I’m crazy.”

“I am saying that you have experienced something traumatic linked to your brands and forgot about it. Now that your brands are at the forefront of your thoughts once more, you are reminiscing. Your mind has been through a lot, it is only normal it will have a hard time adjusting.”

What a long-winded way of saying Lan was crazy.

He thanked Solas and shuffled out of the elf’s room and into the rotunda. Sounds from the library above made him look up. Someone swore in Tevene, then the sound of several more books falling. Lan bit his lips. Then ran up the stairs.

Dorian was crouching between two bookshelves, surrounded by a few fallen books. He looked up when Lan approached and seemed to freeze for a second, before he schooled his features and made an annoyed face.

“Your library is a mess,” he complained. “Books arrived while we were out but whoever put them on the shelves just... piled them up in some sort of-- I think they attempted an inverted pyramid? Whoever they are, they’ve obviously never seen a library in their life but get points for a formidable sense of balance, I suppose.”

Lan hesitated, before crouching and helping. He recognized some words on the covers -those were the books from Helisma’s list. They worked in silence until all the books were piled up in a single stack almost as tall as Lan.

“Thank you,” said Dorian as they stood back up. “I’m glad to see you’re doing all right.”

“Yes,” said Lan, rubbing his arm nervously. “Solas says I’m fine.”

“That is good news.”

“I’m sorry,” blurted out Lan. “About throwing you off that night,” he continued when Dorian lifted an eyebrow at him.

Dorian chuckled. Not the reaction Lan had been expecting.

“We’ve talked about your need to apologize for everything, haven’t we?”

“I think hurting someone is worthy of an apology.”

“You made me fall over. I have a bruise on one buttock. It’s going to be a challenge, but I think I will survive.”

“I’m… still sorry.”

“I’ll tell you one thing you could be sorry about,” said Dorian, “and it’s to hide how terrible you were feeling until we had to literally shake you out of some sort of agonized trance. How could you let it go that far?”

“I’m didn’t know it was that bad,” said Lan miserably. “Not really. And I wanted to save these people. That’s the whole point of the Inquisition. We left them behind to die -or worse! Bull is never going to find them all in time.”

“I don’t think running yourself to the ground is helping anyone at all.”

“But what am I supposed to do? I’m the Inquisitor and I can’t even be near the stuff we’re trying to fight!” Lan wrapped his arms around his middle. “I should just abdicate. Leliana or Cassandra would take my place.”

Dorian actually burst out laughing. “Are you pulling my leg? Cassandra would try to punch everyone into submission and Leliana… I have shivers down my spine just thinking about this -and not the nice kind.” Dorian shook his head. “You have people at your disposal. Send them to deal with lyrium for now on, and deal with what you can, Inquisitor. Your position assumes you control your agents, not that you have to be everywhere at the same time to solve the problems of the world by yourself.” He frowned. “And neither Leliana nor Cassandra would have allowed me to remain here. So, I have to say, you win.”

“Dorian…” Lan started, then stopped. The man looked at him as he took a book from the stack. “If I haven’t hurt you… why -why are you… avoiding me?”

Dorian twirled the book between his long fingers.

“I read about Fenris,” he started slowly. “I know who gave him his brands. I simply assumed the presence of a Tevinter in close quarters was a bad idea if we wanted to avoid another… episode. I just wanted you to get back to Skyhold in one piece, so I tried to minimize exposition to possible triggers.”

Lan couldn’t help his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Well,” Dorian continued, “the main thing is that you’re feeling better now--”

“You know, then.”

There was a short silence.

“You were a slave.” Dorian’s voice lowered considerably, even though they were alone in the library.

Lan nodded wordlessly.

“Escaped?” asked Dorian.

Lan shrugged. “I don’t remember much. It’s, uh. Complicated.”

“Right…”

“You’re not… I mean, the other night had nothing to do with you. You didn’t need to stay away. I’m not- afraid of you, or anything.”

Dorian huffed, a little amused. “I don’t really think you are. But I know what I represent.”

What did Dorian represent? Lan shuffled nervously. Did Dorian have slaves, back in Tevinter? He was from a wealthy family. He must have -but Dorian was not the sort to mindlessly abuse others. Perhaps he _didn’t_ own slaves

Lan pushed those thoughts aside. It didn’t matter, not for now, not here, not-… just not now. He couldn’t think about this now.

“In any case,” said Dorian with false cheer in his voice, “thank you for your help with the books, Inquisitor. I won’t keep you.”

He nodded, as if to dismiss Lan. But Lan didn’t move. An idea was forming in his head and he was trying to decide if it was a good one, or a bad one.

“Anything else?”

Lan took a deep breath, and decided to go for ‘good idea’.

“Yes. Well, sort of. About that. The markings.”

“I’m all ears,” said Dorian, intrigued.

“The other night- you said something about the lyrium and the Anchor reacting to each other.”

“So I did.”

“Solas says the same. So… you understand how it works?”

“Oh, no. I don’t have the slightest clue, Lan. I only made a logical connection.”

“Yes, but that’s all Solas does too. You’re a scholar. You studied magic, and you’ve tinkered with it a lot...”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say… that Solas tries, but he only understands elven magic. Those tattoos are something experimental, and broken, and-” Lan stopped, took a breath. “And something Tevinter.” He looked up at Dorian. “Would you look at them?”

Dorian was silent for a long time. Lan felt his ears heat up despite himself.

“Are you sure?” asked Dorian. “Are you sure you want me, of all people, taking a look at them?”

“Well… I mean... You can always try to trick me and send me to a Tevinter slaver but you’d have to go through Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine and possibly the Commander before you manage, so…”

Dorian’s eyes widened a little. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head and let out a long sigh. “Your sense of humor continues to be absolutely appalling. ”

Lan cleared his throat uncomfortably. “... Sorry.”

“So am I, for having heard that.” Dorian set his book down on the shelves. “I am your last resort, then.”

Lan shrugged. Dorian was the first person he’d actually _asked_ to look into the markings, instead of being forced to or having no other choice, so he wasn’t sure what number of resort that made him.

“Well,” said Dorian finally. “If you’re up for it right now, and don’t plan on making another awful joke, come with me.”

Lan didn’t know much about where each member of the Inquisition had chosen to live. He knew the Commander had found a place in some tower that he’d never tried to locate, but for all he knew Cassandra might just live alongside the training dummies in the courtyard and ever since the tavern had been opened, Lan would not have been surprised to learn Bull and his Chargers slept on and under the counter.

Dorian’s place was close to the library, but it was in an almost deserted part of the castle. It was little more than a hole. There was a cot, a small desk, and books and bits of parchment littered the floor enough that Lan had to tip-toe around them and stand on the balls of his feet in a corner, while Dorian came in behind him and lit up the two torches on the wall with a small fire trick.

“If you’ve quite finished dancing, you can sit on the bed.”

“You’re messy…” Lan side-stepped a pile of parchments covered in complicated-looking glyphs and formulae. He picked one up out of curiosity, but he couldn’t even begin to understand what was written on there. “What’s… that?”

Dorian snatched the paper out of his hands and looked at it. “Hmm. Theories about the Breach and what could have caused it, among other things. Nothing particularly ground-breaking, and I couldn’t go very far without the appropriate literature to help me... But you saw to that, didn’t you? Those new books are your doing.” He smirked as Lan startled. “You really can’t tell anything to a Tranquil. How much did you grovel at Josephine’s feet? Those aren’t easy to find under normal circumstances.”

“I promised her I’d go to a dinner with Lord Duroche.”

“Is he that bad?”

“His favorite sport is nug hunting. He has servants capture nugs and then release them in his gardens, and he hunts them down. He actually calls it a sport.”

“Well… I think I can predict what you will be eating at that dinner.”

Lan’s eyes went wide. “Oh no…”

“What? You hadn’t thought of that?” Dorian chuckled. “I thought you didn’t care about what you ate.”

“But I don’t want to eat something that was looking at me five seconds ago!”

“Oh, come on. They’re not that cute. Have you seen their hands? Think about those horrible little hands when the Lord presents you with a plate of meat. It will motivate you.”

Dorian pushed the mess on the floor to the side,. He stopped before Lan, arms crossed and a thoughtful look on his face.

Lan licked his lips and lifted a sleeve, showing off the ends of the lyrium lines. “I don’t know much about what… it… is, or why it’s in me, or what it can do exactly. Solas has been keeping an eye on it since the beginning but…”

“Can I...?” With a nod from Lan, Dorian took his wrist and turned his arm this way and that, examining the lines under the light. “What do you know about it?”

So Lan told him, word for word, everything Solas had deduced. Dorian’s curiosity was obviously piqued, although he winced in sympathy several times and sounded slightly uneasy when he asked Lan to lie down.

For the second time this day, Lan pulled his shirt over his head for someone else. Dorian’s eyes snapped to his interrupted tattoos and traced them along his skin, traced the scars that cut through them, and stopped on the largest one, the ugly scar at the center of his chest. Lan quickly lay down on his stomach and put his forehead on his crossed arms. He said nothing, but Dorian took it for the invitation it was and crouched by his side.

Dorian’s magic felt different from Solas’ ; it was heavier, more energetic, but also warmer and somewhat comforting. Lan couldn’t help but twitch when it got snagged on a scar, which earned him a questioning glance from Dorian, but he didn’t tell him to stop. The Anchor spluttered at regular intervals, sending little pangs of pain up his arm, though not enough to stop Lan from drifting off, not quite asleep but lulled by the warmth.

When Dorian finally stepped back, Lan’s entire body was vibrating with the memory of magical energy. It felt like deep muscle fatigue after an intense effort, not painful, not uncomfortable, just draining. Dorian handed him his shirt.

“Did you see anything?” Lan asked. He sat up as he pulled the shirt over his torso, hiding the markings once more.

Dorian smoothed his moustache. “I would need to study them more in depth to tell you anything worthwhile. I think it’d be most revelatory if I could catch a change in them. As it stands, I can tell you there’s quite a lot of magic poured into this. Some of yours included.”

“Mine? I _helped_?”

“Not willingly, I don’t think. I’m going to bet someone pulled magic out of you to help, perhaps to force the lyrium to bond with you…”

“You can tell?”

“I just spent half an hour rooting around your system, I can recognize your own lifeforce. It’s mixed with several other sources of magic, the whole thing runs quite deep and looks very intricate… but it obviously failed,” said Dorian. “And as complicated as it seems to be, I don’t think it needed a lot of help. The slightest hitch would have sent everything spiralling out of control.”

“What about the spells?”

“There is definitely something in there with magical intent, but it’s hard to tell what that intent is. Solas is right when he says it’s not alive -apart from very faint echoes of whatever spells were used for the ritual itself, nothing else reacts to my prodding. The lyrium’s pathways aren’t complete enough to allow the magic to flow.”

“So… if the Anchor is repairing them-”

“We don’t know if it does,” interrupted Dorian. “It’s all theories at this point. Solas might be right, the spells might be too broken to work either way.”

“But if he’s wrong… Dorian, if it works-”

Dorian’s hand covered Lan’s on his chest. He realized he’d been rubbing harder and harder at his tattoos. His chest was burning under the friction.

“There is no indication of it happening any time soon. If you’ll let me, I will keep a close eye on it, as I’m sure Solas will. If, and only if, the worst happens… we will stop it.”

Lan took a shaky breath. “How?”

“I’ll find a way. You have my word.”

Dorian’s eyes were earnest, and Lan found himself nodding at him. He let his hand fall back on the bed. A slight silence passed, before Dorian took a deep breath.

“I think that’s quite enough for tonight,” he said. “Would you come back another day? I want to see if I can catch a change from one day to the other.”

“Sure. Of course. Yes.” Lan stood up, suddenly embarrassed. “Thank you. Sorry for… all of this.”

Then he ran out, and didn’t stop until he was in his own quarters. His _giant_ quarters. He hadn’t asked for all this space, but it had been given to him anyway. With a bed on which he could fit four of him, windows so big they gave him vertigo, and carpet that swallowed his feet.

He pulled the covers off the bed and curled up on the floor instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this took longer than usual, it's quite a long chapter.  
> And hey, Fenris is slowly but surely getting closer. 
> 
> Also I reached over 100 kudos!! Thank you everyone <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings with Orlesians, Commanders, and lyrium elves.

“--whether you pay or not is not the problem. The problem is that you thought you had the right to requisition my animals. You are not an official army. Orlais does not fall within your jurisdiction! You took what was not yours to take! I hope you realize the fact that I came here myself instead of asking Empress Celene to deal with you is-- … wait. Will you just stop walking for one minute?”

“No,” said Lan as he went down the stairs from Skyhold’s main hall.

He wasn’t going very fast, the man could follow if he really wanted to discuss… whatever his issue was. He’d ambushed Lan just as he came out of his quarters, this was not an official meeting ; as long as nobody came out of this too offended, Josephine wouldn’t mind. Lan had plans today, and they were not supposed to involve a rich Orlesian land-owner who looked like a sickly chicken.

“I don’t understand what you want from us, my Lord,” said Lan honestly. “If you don’t want to be paid, then why did you come here?”

“Your soldiers took five of my best horses from my stables without asking!”

“Well they did ask,” said Lan, “they just asked your stablehands -who gave them the horses willingly.”

“My stablehands are idiots!”

“Or just grateful. Our soldiers did save your land from a red templar raid, didn’t they? They had wounded men, they needed fast horses.”

“They had wounded _elves_.”

“So?”

The little Orlesian, whose name Lan had once learned then forgotten, put his hands on his hips.

“So, Inquisitor, I cannot help but wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“If you would have been so lenient with your soldiers if they had been human.”

“Would you have been such a pain if they’d been?”

The Orlesian spluttered. “Inquisitor!”

“What do you want, my Lord?” Lan asked, finally stopping at the bottom of the stairs going to the battlements. “I’m not going to fire those soldiers. I’m not going to ban elves from the ranks. You don’t want money, you don’t want to wait here until we can give you back the horses. Unless you came all the way to Skyhold just to follow me around, I still have no idea what you’re doing here.”

“I want an apology, Inquisitor! I want you to recognize you overstepped the boundaries!”

The Orlesian was red in the face with agitation. Lan’s ears twitched in the cold air, an unintentional act of defiance that attracted the Orlesian’s eyesight. Despite himself, Lan felt a rush of self-consciousness and forced his ears to stay still.

“All right,” Lan said, and he bowed to the man. Not too low, but low enough. “Then on behalf of the Inquisition, I apologize for any harm we may have caused you.”

He straightened up. The Orlesian looked speechless. He obviously had not expected a prompt apology, maybe he’d even hoped he would have to fight for it so he could later brag about bending the Inquisitor to his will. But Lan was out of patience and out of ideas.

“And since we’ve caused you no harm,” he continued, “I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. But you can enjoy the image, I guess. And please don’t punish your stablehands for being decent people. Now, uh, I really have somewhere to go. If you change your mind about being paid, see with our Ambassador.”

He turned around and went up the steps, leaving the Orlesian at the bottom.

The wind was particularly cold up there. Lan walked past soldiers complaining about daggers and plums disappearing, before he reached the tower he’d been assured was Cullen’s office.

He hadn’t seen the Commander since coming back from the Emprise a couple of days ago. He’d been stuck in Josephine’s office, going over what he’d missed during the trip, but the Samson problem niggled at his mind. Cullen hadn’t shown up for the past few meetings, apparently busy with other things, so Lan had decided to finally locate his tower.

He knocked on the door. A muffled voice from inside said something that resembled ‘come in’.

The Commander’s office looked cozy... if you ignored the freezing temperature and the wind blowing through. It took Lan a second before he saw the gaping hole in the roof above the mezzanine.

Cullen was sitting at his desk. He looked up briefly, identified Lan, and lowered his head again over his papers. Lan only saw his eyes for a second but something about them made him pause.

“Inquisitor,” the Commander greeted in a hoarse voice.

“Good morning.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this Samson… Varric said you knew him.”

Cullen sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I did. We served together in Kirkwall, for a while. Until he was kicked out of the Order.”

“Why?”

“He smuggled love letters between one of the mages and someone from the outside. He was caught.”

“That’s it? Love letters?”

“It would have been enough in any Circle, but in Kirkwall, any offence immediately took insane proportions. After that, he ended up begging in the streets. I knew he was an addict, but this…”

“An addict?” repeated Lan.

“He’s feeding these templars, lying to them until they turn into monsters. Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. Its power comes with a terrible madness.”

“I noticed,” said Lan.

The Commander finally looked him in the eyes. He definitely looked pale -or paler than usual. That man was shockingly white on a good day.

“Your trip to the Emprise... “ said Cullen, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. “When we received Varric’s crow... He made it sound like the lyrium had a hold over you.”

“Varric exaggerated,” said Lan, slightly embarrassed. “I’m fine. It was just, uh, weird.” He cleared his throat. “What do you think we should do about Samson?”

“We cannot allow the red templars to gain strength. If we can find where they get their shipments from, we can weaken them -and their leader. We’ve been hearing rumors about caravans of red lyrium, we need to track them down.”

“Yes, of course. Ah, um… It’ll be easier to do if you come to the War Room,” Lan said a little apologetically. “I mean, I need your input if we want to put anything in place.”

“Tell me a time, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you… Are you all right?”

Cullen blinked at him. “What?”

 _A fever?_ thought Lan. “I mean- how long have you been here? Do you want to fix that hole in your roof? That can’t be good. What do you do when it snows?”

Cullen’s eyes travelled to the roof, as if he hadn’t even thought about it.

“It’s fine for now,” he said eventually. “Our workers are busy with more pressing matters.”

“So you’re saying snow doesn’t land on your important papers?”

“Not so far.”

“Okay... I’ll leave you to your work.”

Lan escaped and wondered if it was even worth closing the door behind him. How did Cullen manage to sleep in there? No wonder he got sick.

His afternoon was spent looking through boring trade agreements, following Sera as he saw her look conspiratorial with a basket of eggs, getting pelted by an egg when he accidentally surprised her, discovering that she intended to bake cookies, asking her where she slept and if it had holes somewhere.

He then slipped to the Undercroft and went through various crates until he found some obsidian. He tried to remember what Dorian’s staff blade had looked like the very first time they’d met ; it had been Dorian’s own, which meant it came from Tevinter. Lan didn’t have the skills to replicate the design exactly, but he could do something similar. And solid.

It was late afternoon when he regained his quarters. The curtains were pulled, as they had been for several days. A servant had closed them one night and Lan hadn’t bothered to open them again. He was starting to think he liked it better that way. It made the room feel smaller.

A knock on the door came before he had time to do anything. Leliana was on the other side.

“I received a crow from the Emprise du Lion.”

Lan’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

“They have found most of the prisoners in time.”

“Most?”

“Six were found too late. The Iron Bull says they asked for mercy.”

Lan closed his eyes. He’d known this was how it was going to end.

“The Bull also says they found more instructions in one of the red templars camps, signed by Samson.”

Lan looked back at her. “I just talked to the Commander about that. You should give him those letters.” Lan paused briefly. “Huh, did you know his roof has a hole in it?”

“Sorry?”

“A big hole. He doesn’t want to fix it.”

Leliana gave him a weird look. “Do you want me to fix it?”

“No, no. I just thought maybe you should try to convince him to call some workers in, before his whole room freezes over. I tried already, but he’s, um, a bit… off.”

Slowly, Leliana nodded. “I will talk to him. I can’t promise I can convince him of anything. One more thing, Inquisitor…”

“Yes?”

“I received a message from your Keeper.”

“What? Why?”

“It seems a few bandits are taking interest in your clan. It doesn’t look too bad, but they are asking for help if we can spare it.”

Lan’s stomach dropped. “Yes! Send help!”

“I will send my scouts right away.” Leliana offered him a reassuring smile. “I will do everything I can to solve this before anyone gets hurt, you have my word. Good evening, Inquisitor. And… I am sorry about the Emprise du Lion.”

“Yeah. So am I.”

“Remember that you made the right decision. Also, you still have egg in your hair.”

She saluted and left.

Lan spent time in the bath, making sure he was completely egg-free. He inspected his naked skin in the water. He could only remember being small and thin, but his months in the Inquisition had given him… muscles. They hung on his bones like someone had inserted them under his skin, as if his own body didn’t quite know what to do with them. It would have been an interesting thing, if only it didn’t make the lyrium lines even more obvious.

He put on clean clothes, took the blade he’d crafted, and went to the library where he found Dorian going through neatly organized shelves.

“You’ve been busy,” remarked Lan.

Dorian turned to him. “I’m not quite finished, but it’s a start.” He was wearing his fancy leather clothes with only one sleeve, showing off his well toned arm. “More books are coming in soon, it’s becoming something worth my while.”

Lan nodded distractedly, his eyes still on Dorian’s arm. _That_ was what muscles should look like.

“Do you like what you see?”

Lan startled. “What? Uh…” Dorian was smiling and Lan felt his cheeks go red. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re not the first. I make everyone stare. What is this for?” Dorian asked, mercifully changing the subject as he pointed at the staff blade.

“Oh. It’s for you.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed. “For me?”

“Well, um… It’s not safe for you to fight with a cracked blade. And I had some downtime today, so I thought I could do something useful with it.” Lan’s nervous fingers were twiddling with the blade. “If you don’t want it--”

“No, no, it’s…” Dorian extended a hand and Lan dropped the blade into it. 

He watched as Dorian’s long fingers traced the edge and ran along the smooth surface, his grey eyes inspecting the craftsmanship.

“It doesn’t look great but it won’t crack easily and it’s still sharp... I mean, it’s just in the meantime, until you can buy something better.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect. Thank you, Lan,” Dorian said eventually, heartfelt. “It’s completely unnecessary, but it is appreciated.”

A pleasant puff of warmth spread through Lan’s chest at those words, climbing up his neck and reaching his cheeks. He smiled despite trying not to -not that it mattered a lot, because Dorian’s attention was still on the blade.

“Are you free right now?” he asked, emboldened by his success. “For my markings, I mean.”

“Of course,” said Dorian easily. He stepped aside and gestured for Lan to lead the way. “I am at your service.”

Dorian’s room had been cleaned up as well, only one book remaining on the desk and the papers stacked in organised piles. The book was in Tevene, as Lan discovered as he flipped through it while Dorian swapped the blades on his staff. One word appeared over and over again, though Lan had no idea how to read it.

“Ink-ace-oar?” he muttered.

“Pardon?”

Lan jumped. He closed the book and turned to Dorian, who was waiting for him. “Nothing. Sorry. I shouldn’t mess with your books.”

“Technically, they’re your books.”

“Well _I_ can’t do anything useful with them,” Lan mumbled to himself.

At Dorian’s invitation, Lan took off his coat and shirt and lied down on the bed.

Dorian was silent, focused. This small room, in a solitary part of the castle, was more comfortable than anything else in Skyhold. Outside that door there were people, and meetings, and chicken-like Orlesians who had something against pointed ears. There were endless questions and business deals that went over Lan’s head, there was a Civil War in Orlais and rifts in Ferelden, red templars and demons, troops to move from one end of Thedas to the other, death tolls, Tranquils to house and parts of the Chantry to keep at arm’s length--

“If you keep tensing like this,” said Dorian, “you’re going to snap in half.”

Lan closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Sorry.”

He forced his body to settle, his thoughts to turn to the present. Here, there was just a soft bed, and Dorian who had no intention of asking him anything about trade agreements or start counting the rifts still waiting to be closed. Nobody else knew Lan was here, nobody was going to knock on the door to drag him somewhere he had no desire to be. Here, time finally seemed to stop, if only for a little while, and Lan could allow himself to think and feel at his own pace.

“Did you hear about the Emprise?”

“Leliana told me,” said Dorian quietly.

Lan didn’t say anything else. The ebb and flow of the magic warmed him up, the silence buzzed pleasantly in his ears. He was almost asleep when Dorian eventually stepped back.

“I can’t detect any changes. Good news as it gives you some respite... Bad news as it means I can’t tell you much more about it.”

“It would help to see them while they’re glowing, wouldn’t it?”

“It very probably would, but I doubt you can do it on command.”

“Solas did it once.”

“Interesting. How?”

Lan grimaced. “I don’t know exactly. It was… uncomfortable.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll talk to him, see what he has to say.” Dorian paused and shook his head. “You came to me for a fresh opinion, and all I have to say is what Solas already told you.”

“It’s fine, Dorian. I knew you wouldn’t find something right away. I warned you it was complicated.”

Dorian sighed. “You can come back whenever you want and I’ll try again. I’ll crack your secrets eventually, I swear.”

“Great. I hope you tell me when you do, I don’t even know my own secrets.”

“You’ll be the first informed,” said Dorian genially.

“Thanks.”

Dorian smiled. “You should go to sleep for now, you look exhausted.”

“Inquisitor business. Who knew talking to nobles could be that tiring.”

“Anyone who’s ever talked to nobles, I’m pretty sure,” answered Dorian.

Right, thought Lan, Dorian would have some experience with these things too. Lan wondered what his life had been like, back in Tevinter. Rubbing elbows with great big Magisters? Maybe with people who mistreated their slaves?

“Something else troubling you?” asked Dorian.

Lan hesitated. He still couldn’t bring himself to ask Dorian if he’d had slaves, but the question was there, heavy and razor-sharp against Lan’s conscience.

He pushed it aside. Instead, he found himself recounting his ‘meeting’ with that Orlesian man. Dorian twitched when Lan talked about apologizing.

“Why would you do this? Why bend before this weasel? You’re the Inquisitor! Have him thrown out!”

Lan frowned. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s just… I never faced hostile humans when I was with the Lavellans and I know I’ve been lucky. But since I became the Herald it’s like… I have to be ready every time I meet a human, just in case. And I meet a lot of them, all the time. Dozens every day, new faces, and I don’t know if they’re going to have a problem with me or not, and it’s too tiring to get angry every time. I just wanted him to go away, Dorian.”

Dorian shook his head. “I understand it can’t be easy for you, but surely you realize that in your position, bowing to anyone who asks for it is not the best course of action.”

“I don’t bow to anyone,” said Lan, bristling. “I won’t put the Inquisition’s reputation on the line. But he’s a tiny chicken-man, the biggest problem he can cause is annoying me while I’m trying to talk to the Commander! Nobody cares if I bow to him or not.”

“I do,” said Dorian. “And you should as well. The Inquisition’s reputation is not the only thing that matters. What about your own self-respect?”

“I don’t care,” Lan grumbled. “Throwing him out would have made more problems. I didn’t want him to make a show of it! Josephine keeps trying to teach me how their Game works but I’m not made for this. They know how to say things without really saying them and I can’t respond in kind. I have _nothing_ against them.”

“Now that’s not entirely true,” said Dorian with a smirk, “You have quite a set of pipes when things frustrate you.”

“Yelling doesn’t help anything.”

“I don’t know about that. Back in Tevinter, I dreamed of letting go of the diplomacy and fake smiles and start yelling at the people my father made me fraternize with.” He sneered. “A few of them deserved a lightning bolt up their nostrils.”

Lan grimaced as he tried not to picture the result.

“Dorian… what do you think of elves?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re asking me, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t know either,” Lan admitted quietly. “... Humans are attacking the Lavellans. They’ve asked us for help.”

“Maker, are they all right?”

“Leliana says they’re mostly fine. She’s taking care of it.”

“Then I’m sure your clan is in good hands. She’s not the kind to leave things to chance.”

“No. They’re fine. Probably. They’re not defenceless, even on their own. It just doesn’t make sense, it’s so… pointless.” Lan sighed, weary. “I’m just-... I’m going to bed.”

Dorian didn’t ask for an explanation. “Good night, Inquisitor.”

“Yeah.”

Lan left without looking back. He was halfway across the hall when Varric’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, Pointy?”

Lan turned to the dwarf and frowned. It was the first time he could ever remember seeing Varric hesitant, almost ill at ease.

“What is it?”

“Can you come with me?”

“Where?”

“Just come with me, would you?”

Lan followed the dwarf outside. They bumped into Josephine as they were crossing the courtyard.

“Ah, Inquisitor! I wanted to see you. Are you busy?”

“Uh…” Lan glanced at Varric, who gave him a minute shake of the head. Lan cleared his throat. “Why?”

“I finally managed to secure an official invitation to the ball at Halamshiral, courtesy of Duke Cyril de Montfort.”

Lan immediately felt dread fill him from head to toe.

“A ball.”

“This is not news, Inquisitor. We have been discussing it for months.”

“Yes. True. But I think I just realized I’m going to have to dance.”

Josephine gave him a pitying look. “I will find you an instructor.”

“It’s very soon.”

“I will find you a very good instructor. We need to do this, Inquisitor. Whether you can dance or only hop on one foot, you will go.”

“I-... has anyone told you you’re scary?”

She smiled demurely. “Another thing : I have received a very odd complaint today from one Lord Albret…”

 _That_ was chicken-man’s name! “He started it,” Lan said.

“I did get that impression,” said Josephine without blinking at Lan’s childishness. “And do not get me wrong, I am on your side. But he still says you humiliated him in public.”

“I did?” said Lan, frowning. He’d thought it had been the other way around. “Can I threaten him with a lightning bolt up his nostril?”

“I suppose I can find a way to work this in the conversation next time he knocks on my door…”

Behind her back, Varric made a ‘hurry up’ gesture. Lan shook himself.

“Err, yes, please, do that. I’m sorry, but I have to, um…” Lan trailed off.

Crap.

He should have prepared a lie to tell _before_ he started the sentence. Now Josephine was staring at him, and that was really not helping.

“You’re busy,” she said after a few seconds of awkward silence, her eyes going from Varric to Lan. “I’ll take care of everything, Lord Albret included. Do not worry. Good night, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

Varric stared at him as Josephine walked away.

“What?” asked Lan.

“I think you weren’t obvious enough. Next time I’ll give you a sign that says ‘I’m doing something and I don’t want you to know about it’.”

Lan flushed. “I don’t know what we’re doing! Maybe I do want her to know about it.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t. Not her and not anybody else.”

They went up the battlements. Night was falling, the wind was picking up, and there were two silhouettes waiting alone in the shadow of one of the deserted towers.

“Varric?” asked Lan warily. “Who is this?”

“Someone who can help.”

Lan stopped walking. “Varric?”

“I didn’t know she was going to bring… him. I asked them not to but of course they didn’t listen. I think he got curious. But-”

“Varric!”

“Don’t shout, you’re going to alert everyone.”

Varric waved, and the silhouettes started walking over. Lan was rooted where he stood as they slowly came into focus, and their faces were hit by clear moonlight.

There was a woman with a red mark across her nose, a mage’s staff loosely held in one hand. The other person... was Lan. Sort of.

Tattoos glowing with a soft blue hue on his chin and exposed patches of skin on his neck and arms. Green eyes narrowed dangerously as they studied Lan, unblinking and almost burning with intensity. A sword almost as big as he was strapped to his back. Lan stared at this other version of himself, mouth agape, and wondered if now was an appropriate time to pass out.

“Hawke, Broody,” said Varric, “meet his Inquisitorialness himself, Alaslan Lavellan.”

“That is amazing,” whispered Hawke, eyes jumping from one elf to the other. “Brothers?”

“I only have a sister,” said Fenris, “and you were here when I killed her.”

His voice was flat and matter-of-factly. What an odd individual.

“Do you remember having a brother, Inquisitor?” asked Hawke.

Lan shook his head without looking away from the other elf. He really was shorter than Fenris, and thinner. Even Fenris’ facial features looked more filled-out. The lyrium lines on his skin were full and graceful, curling around his muscles as if to compliment them. Lan felt like a sickly version of him, a Fenris that hadn’t quite finished taking shape.

“When you said they looked alike,” said Hawke, “I didn’t think they would look _that_ alike. Can blood magic replicate a body? Or a demon?”

“I can check,” said Fenris, raising a hand. Lan took an instinctive step back.

“Fenris.” Hawke grabbed his arm and tugged him gently back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“If he’s a demon he’ll defend himself,” said Fenris, taking his arm back from Hawke. “If there is something abnormal with his body I will feel it.”

“Broody, trust me. He’s fine. He’s been tested a hundred times already.”

“A demon could have charmed you easily.”

“Me and the whole Inquisition? Including seekers and templars? Come on. He’s not some weird replica, I swear. Please don’t tear the Inquisitor’s heart out of his chest. That’ll look bad on your resume.”

Fenris made a disdainful sound. “I was not planning on tearing anyone’s heart out unless they turn out to be a fake,” he said, though he did lower his arm.

“I’m real!” squeaked Lan, frustration bubbling over. “Of course I’m real! I’m right there, I can hear you.”

Fenris’ eyes snapped back to him. “Where do you come from?”

“Uh…” Lan swallowed nervously. Maker’s breath this elf was intense. “I don’t know.”

“I told you he doesn’t remember much,” said Varric.

“Can you stop telling them about me behind my back?” hissed Lan. “How many secret letters did you send them?”

“Hey, you know about him. I thought it’s only fair he knows about you too. Don’t glare at me,” Varric sighed. “I thought he could help you!”

“Help me what?!”

“What do you think? Your tattoos!”

Fenris’ eyes travelled to Lan’s covered arms when Varric mentioned the tattoos. Lan hesitated a second before pulling up a sleeve.

“Maker’s sweet cheeks,” cursed Hawke, eyes going wide. She looked back at Fenris, who did not move an inch.

“You were not lying, Varric,” he said blandly.

“Why would I lie about this crap?”

“I don’t pretend to understand you.”

He looked back at Lan, who once more had to contain himself. Fenedhis, but that elf looked dangerous. That was a version of Lan that could easily stand against Corypheus. Nobody would even dare ask _him_ to apologize for no reason. Maybe they should get him to become Inquisitor... A few careful lies and people would merely think Lan had been training very hard -and grown a couple of inches.

“Why can’t you control them?”

“Why?” repeated Lan, thrown. “I just… never learned. They didn’t even work for years. They’ve been gaining strength.”

Fenris’ brow furrowed. “How could they be gaining strength?”

Lan winced. He raised his hand and pushed some energy into the Anchor, making it flare for a second. Fenris and Hawke both flinched away, Fenris letting out a quiet curse in Tevene.

“This. It sort of… communicates with the lyrium.”

Hawke approached him. She looked at him to get permission before taking his wrist in her hand and turning it over, inspecting the Anchor.

“Well, that is…something,” she said. “I’m really not sure what, but it certainly is a thing.”

While she looked, Lan met Fenris’ eyes again. That elf really knew how to stay still as a statue.

“I do not know how to help you. I wouldn’t know how to wrestle control away from some… outer influence.”

Lan hesitated. “You really activate them on command?”

Fenris flared his tattoos, only flashing them quickly. Lan cursed loudly.

“Yeah, that’s usually the reaction,” agreed Varric.

“How do you do that?”

Fenris shrugged. “It’s become second nature.”

“Come on, Broody,” said Varric. “Help the kid. You’re the only expert we know!”

Fenris scowled at him. “I only know what to do with mine, Varric. I have never met someone else with those lines.”  

“Then tell him what you do and see if it works. You can’t leave him like that, he’s gonna end up killing someone one day. And I’m pretty sure it’ll be himself.”

“We cannot stay,” grunted Fenris. “You know that.”

“What?” said Lan. “You can’t?”

“We weren’t supposed to come here for a while,” said Hawke as she finally released his hand. “We have someone to find… but we thought it would be worth making a quick stop to meet you.”

Given Fenris’ reaction, Lan wasn’t sure it had been worth anything. He just wanted to run away now.

“Then where were you going?”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine. A Grey Warden with interesting information about the Order’s disappearance.”

“What- really?” asked Lan, eyes wide. “You have information about that? Maker’s breath, why are you here and not in the war room-- oh.” Lan’s eyes went to Varric. “Cassandra is going to kill you.”

“Definitely. Hurry up and figure out how to put your hand through people, the day she finds out I’ll need you to protect me.”

“Ew…” said Lan with a grimace as he tried not to imagine what that would feel like. “Even if I could do it, Cassandra is the last person I’d try that on.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” Varric shrugged.

* * *

What Hawke had to say about the Grey Wardens and Corypheus was incredibly important and very concerning. And Lan could barely bring himself to care, because Fenris was walking slowly right by his side, his giant sword swinging on his back.

Varric was now leading them toward an abandoned tower which would let them leave Skyhold without alerting the guards. Somehow, Hawke had managed to join him up ahead and leave Fenris a few steps behind with Lan without either of them realizing what was happening before it was too late.

So now they trailed behind in awkward silence. Varric kept insisting they unearthed some great mystery, but nobody knew how to do that. Lan did not have enough memories to be of any help, and Fenris… who knew what he was thinking? A hundred different conversation starters floated through Lan’s head without finding purchase.

“You’re a mage,” said Fenris all of a sudden.

Lan didn’t answer. He considered the height of the battlements and whether he would survive if he tried escaping by jumping off.

“My sister was one too,” Fenris continued. He sounded merely reflective, half-lost in thoughts.

“What would it mean if we were… related?”

Fenris glanced at Lan. “It makes more sense if this is all an odd coincidence.”

Lan almost laughed. “With the tattoos and everything?”

“I have no doubt Danarius was not the only Magister in Tevinter to experiment on his slaves.”

Lan stopped. Fenris walked a few steps more before stopping and looking back at him in question.

“We look…”

“Similar,” said Fenris, “but it does not mean much.”

“Really?” said Lan, incredulous. He’d thought Varric exaggerated, that the both of them couldn’t look that much alike, but they did. And since it had been confirmed over and over again that Lan was not some half-baked replica...

Fenris planted his eyes in Lan’s. “You don’t remember anything from Tevinter.”

“No…”

“I remember years of servitude by Danarius’ side. I would have noticed you.”

“But… He didn’t tell you about your sister. He could have kept me apart too.”

Fenris’ eyes flashed. “Varania was freed. Danarius had no reason to remind me of her existence. You want to imagine Danarius was your Master? Then let’s say he was. He would never have freed you, not with all this lyrium in your skin, so why keep you a secret?”

“I-... I don’t know but-”

“You seem younger than I am. If you escaped before I underwent the ritual and lost my memories, it would mean you received your markings before I did. Do you really think Danarius would have wasted such an expensive ritual on a child? And if you escaped after, then you were still here while I was his bodyguard and patrolled the entire estate from one end to the other - _I would have seen you_.”

That was a point Lan couldn’t refute. Nothing about this whole affair made sense.

“Fenris?” called Hawke up ahead.

There was a second of stillness before Fenris tore his eyes off Lan. “Yes?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“What?” gasped Lan.

“We can’t stay, Hawke. We’re running out of time.”

“I know _we_ can’t stay. _You_ can.”

The look Fenris gave her told Lan that this was not the first time they’d had this conversation.

“You are not travelling alone. Not with everything that’s happening.”

“Fenris. If you need to stay--”

“I do not need anything,” interrupted Fenris. “I am coming with you. Stop trying to leave me behind.”

“You know that’s not what I’m doing! Listen, this is--”

“Hawke. I am not staying.”

Something seemed to pass between the two of them as they looked in each other’s eyes. Fenris won whatever it was, and Hawke sighed.

“Okay. All right. Inquisitor…” She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer. We’ll contact you as soon as we have more information.”

Lan didn’t say anything. Hawke winced.

“This is awkward, isn’t it…”

“A bit,” agreed Varric. “Just go. We’ll deal with the rest when you come back.”

With reluctance, Hawke slipped through the door, Fenris in tow. Lan met those intense green eyes one last time before the door closed. He then stared at the door, unblinking. The Anchor hurt a little, sending pinpricks of pain through his tattoos.

“You all right?” asked Varric, and Lan nodded mechanically. “Sure you are. I’m sorry for keeping Fenris a secret, I thought you wouldn’t come if I told you..” Varric left a silence, as if expecting Lan to say something. “Well. I didn’t expect him to be _happy_ to meet you, but I guess I hoped he’d be a little less prickly. Have to admit, I didn’t think his first thought would be to attack you just to see what would happen.” Another silence. Lan kept staring at the door. Varric sighed. “He just needs time to process everything. You too. Come on, Pointy.”

Varric’s hand in the small of his back pushed him back to Skyhold, and to his quarters. Varric left him before the door, expecting Lan to go up the stairs, into that big, near-empty room waiting for him.

Lan listened until the dwarf’s footsteps disappeared. Then he turned around and went for the rotunda, which was blessedly empty at this hour of the night, and climbed to the library. A lit candle in a corner took him by surprise.

“Lan?” asked Dorian, half-hidden in shadows. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Lan hugged himself. “I don’t know.”

Could he tell Dorian about Fenris? Probably not. Or maybe he could… he had no idea. He did not have the start of an idea of what to do now. He didn’t even know if he had to do something in the first place. He just wanted to clear his head. Somehow.

Dorian put his book down and walked over, taking the candle with him. The shifting light of the flame accentuated the worried crease on his forehead.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lan laughed weakly. “That’d be better.”

“Are you all right?”

Lan rubbed his arms. “I-I… what are you doing here?”

“Research,” said Dorian.

“Ah. Research.” Lan shivered and Dorian took a step closer.

“Did something happen?”

“No. I don’t know. It’s just… it’s just thoughts, in my head. Huh, that’s normal, but--... huh.” Dorian looked seriously worried now and Lan was not helping. Words, he needed actual words. “I’m sorry. I’ll go-”

“Lan.” Dorian clasped a hand around his arm, squeezing a little. “Do you need Solas? I don’t mind waking him up if--”

“No! No, it’s not… I don’t need anyone, just… just… somewhere. I don’t know.”

Dorian nodded. He pulled on Lan’s arm, and, not encountering any resistance, gently led him toward his own bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is here! ... he wasn't here for very long. But he's coming back soon.  
> That was an awkward first contact, but, well, they're both weirded out beyond belief.
> 
> for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about the "same hat!!" meme while I was editing this chapter. Just Varric and Hawke waving their respective elf going "same elf? Same elf!! Same elf!"  
> ... don't mind me, it's late and I'm sick.


	14. Chapter 14

Lan woke up with a ridiculous snort and a jerk.

He blinked at the small room bathed in grey morning light. Not his room.

Dorian’s room.

Lan jumped out of the bed as if the sheets had been electrified. What was he doing here? Where was Dorian? … where were his boots?

He found them tucked in a corner, and his leather coat draped over the back of the desk chair. He didn’t remember taking either of those off -he didn’t remember getting into Dorian’s bed. All he knew was that he’d tried to escape being alone with his thoughts, he’d wanted somewhere he could curl up and hide between two bookshelves… had Dorian just pushed him into the bed?

“Fenedhis…” Lan sat on the floor and grabbed his boots. He needed to get out of here, find Dorian, apologize for running the man out of his own bed.

He only had one boot on when voices reached him from the outside. Lan froze. He couldn’t hear the words, but he could hear Josephine’s lilting accent and Dorian’s light tone of voice. Crap… what if Dorian expected him to have left by now? If he opened the door and Josephine saw Lan sitting there, it was going to bring trouble.

Lan looked around but there was no clear hiding place. He crawled under the desk instead, just as the voices stopped behind the door.

“...even Varric does not know where he is, which is most unusual,” said Josephine.

“I’m telling you I saw him just a minute ago,” responded Dorian smoothly. “I’m pretty sure he was going to ask for breakfast in the kitchens.”

“I just came from the kitchens!”

“Then you missed each other. Lady Josephine, really, there is no need to look at me like this. I am not hiding him under my robes.”

“You know as well as I do that he does not have many confidants.”

“And you’re counting me among them? I’m flattered, but really the Inquisitor and I don’t know each other that well. Have you tried asking Sera? If anyone’s likely to help him hide from his duty, it would be her.”

There was a small length of silence.

“Whenever you see him,” said Josephine, “please send him my way.”

“ _If_ I see him, I will.”

The sound of retreating heels on naked stone floor. A moment of silence. Then a quiet knock on the door.

“Are you awake?”

Lan swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Dorian only opened the door enough for him to slither through. His legs were all Lan could see as he stopped, confused by the apparently empty room.

“What…”

Lan thrust a hand out from under the desk. “I’m here.”

Dorian’s legs walked over. He was wearing white leather boots, a golden snake stitched into the outer sides going from his ankles up to his knees. The man crouched down, revealing that the rest of him was also dressed in white and gold, and his grey eyes peered at Lan.

“Good morning, Inquisitor.”

Lan winced. “Hi. Um… I heard voices. I hid.”

“That sounds perfectly logical.” With the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips, Dorian extended a helpful hand to Lan. “But nobody knows you’re here. You’ll be just as hidden sitting on the chair as you are under that desk.”

“Sorry,” Lan mumbled self-consciously as he took the offered hand.

Dorian hauled him up as effortlessly and released him into the chair. Lan brought his one unshod foot up on the seat, hugging his knee against his chest.

“It seemed like a good idea. It would have been difficult to explain if someone had seen me alone in your room. I barely know what I’m doing here.”

“Well… you looked like you needed both a change in scenery and a quiet place to sleep,” Dorian said. “I provided it.”

Lan glanced at him. “That’s a diplomatic way to say I blubbered at you until you gave me your bed.”

“‘Blubber’? You didn’t blubber. You just stuttered in my face until you passed out.”

“Maker’s breath.” Lan put his face in his hands with a groan, feeling the heat in his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

A light touch on his arm made him twitch.

“Lan… I looked around after you fell asleep. I found nothing, but I did see Varric.”

Lan looked between his fingers. “And… What did Varric say?”

“That you met someone who gave you a bit of a shock. Nothing more. But I made an educated guess,” Dorian said, lifting a telling eyebrow. “So, how much does he look like you?”

With a groan, Lan melted into the chair. “A lot.”

“I once promised you I wouldn’t put my nose where it wasn’t wanted, so I won’t ask awkward questions. But if you want to talk…”

“Talk?” Lan straightened. “Talk. About what? The fact that I was so sure I wasn’t Fenris’ brother before, but now I’m sure I am? And that he doesn’t think so at all and what he says makes perfect sense? We can’t both be right, either we’re brothers and Danarius was my master or we aren’t and I don’t know where I come from. And I’ve never known where I come from, but for a second last night I thought I knew and now I don’t know anymore...” Lan stopped to take a breath, the first one since he’d started speaking. “Oh, and he hates me. He might have a good reason.”

His marked hand rubbed along the lyrium lines on his right forearm, causing a slight buzz to travel through his markings, as if someone was tracing their finger along the rim of a crystal glass. He certainly felt like he was made of crystal right now ; he could feel last night’s panic quivering under his skin.

He remembered green eyes… They were not Fenris’ eyes but their image brought with them so much sadness and helplessness. Green eyes weren’t uncommon in elves, it did not mean much.

 _But you look too much alike_ , murmured a voice in his head.

_But why doesn’t he remember me? How could I have escaped first if I am truly the younger brother? … how could I have left him behind? Did I abandon him, leave him to be played with and experimented on while I escaped?_

“Lan.”

Dorian’s hand covered his, stopping its mad scratching. Lost in his thoughts, Lan had turned the skin of his forearm red and angry. And now that he had stopped it was starting to burn.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Shame crept into his cheeks, always so ready to jump on him when he realized he was acting outside the norm. But Dorian’s touch was warm and quietly supportive, and the simple comfort it provided made everything else seem less important. Lan’s fingers flexed around the man’s hand unconsciously, unwilling to let that warmth go.

“It’s complicated,” he said, forcing the words out past a lump in his throat. “Everything’s just a big ball of… stuff… and I can’t decide how I feel about it because I don’t want to think about how I feel about it because I’m scared of what I could be feeling about it.” Lan paused, then frowned. “That didn’t make any sense.”

“It made some sense,” said Dorian. He was leaving his hand lax in Lan’s grip, either because he didn’t dare take it back, or because he didn’t mind. “Not a whole lot of it, but some. Running away from your problems… It would be hypocritical of me to lecture you for it.”

It took some effort for Lan to release Dorian’s hand. The man took it back without haste.

“What do you do when you don’t want to think?” Lan asked, lifting his eyes to Dorian.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “If the face you make whenever someone mentions alcohol is anything to go by, I don’t think my methods will work for you.”

“That’s it? Alcohol?”

“It has been mankind’s favorite way to escape its problems since it first appeared. But it’s clearly not for you… There are other ways, however. Come on.”

“What?” Lan stood as Dorian went for the door. “Where?”

“Drinking is not your thing, but I am starting to wonder if eating is. You look pale and shaky. How long has it been since you last ate something?”

“... um...”

Dorian shook his head disapprovingly. “I’m sure I can bully Cabot into making something worth your while. You’ll see if it’s easier to untangle your ‘ball of stuff’ once your brain is not running on empty.”

“I’m not even sure I want to untangle it,” Lan said, but he did pick up his second boot and hopped on one foot while he put it on.

“Well, if you still feel like this after a meal, you’ll just have to ignore me and hide under the tavern’s tables instead.” Dorian briefly poked his head outside. “The path is clear. Come along, Inquisitor. We might manage to avoid Josephine if we move quickly…”

* * *

Dorian was half right. Eating the roasted vegetables Cabot produced after scowling at Dorian’s request for ‘edible food’ did make Lan feel better ; his thoughts cleared, the feverish hum thrumming under his skin receded.

It didn’t, however, make his feelings about Fenris any less complicated. He felt just as bad about it after swallowing that broccoli than he had before -but at least he could think about it more clearly.

“Better?” Dorian asked after a few minutes of watching silently as Lan discovered himself an appetite.

Lan nodded as he swallowed his mouthful. “A bit.”

“I’ll take it.” Dorian leaned back on the bench, spreading his arms along the back of it and crossing his legs leisurely. “How is that ball of stuff of yours?”

“Hmmph.” Lan speared a potato with his fork. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Is there anything you can do? Except wait and see how this develops?”

“But there’s… other things,” Lan admitted. He looked around, making sure nobody was listening in, before whispering,  “... did I tell you I don’t remember my time in Tevinter?”

“You said you didn’t remember much.”

“I don’t remember anything.” The potato wedge slipped off his forgotten fork. Lan picked it up again, keeping his eyes on his plate instead of on Dorian. “I don’t remember a thing before three years ago, and by then I was already in the Free Marches. I don’t remember over twenty years of my life. I don’t know what kind of person-… what I did-... And Fenris -thinking about him, it just makes it worse. If we were together in Tevinter then why aren’t we now? What happened to us? And if we weren’t… then who…”

Lan stopped himself. _Who am I?_ Was he someone who had selfishly escaped alone, leaving a brother and sister behind? Did he come from Seheron, like Fenris had claimed in Varric’s book? Whose green eyes were seared in his memory, was it another family member? What had he done to _them_?

The background noise of the tavern filled his ears as Lan pushed food around his plate.

“I have spent the first ten years of my life memorizing my ancestry.” Dorian’s voice was soft, almost too much to be heard at all. Lan looked up to find him staring out of the window, eyes unfocused.

“What?” asked Lan, unsure what Dorian’s point was.

“My family are the descendants of the great Dreamers of Ancient Tevinter. It’s an honor. Every child of every such family has their whole genealogy drilled into their head. I can tell you the name and title of most people in my family tree, back to a time before the first Blight. It’s supposed to remind us of how important we are, because of where we come from.” Dorian shrugged and turned his eyes back to Lan. “Look at me. I don’t think my ancestors would be very proud of what I became.”

“Why not? You’re helping Thedas,” Lan protested.

“And you think it matters?” Dorian gave a brief, slightly bitter laugh. “I am House Pavus’ one and only heir, the product of generations of careful breeding and the repository of all their hopes and dreams. I am not supposed to be fighting my own countrymen in the Fereldan countryside. I am supposed to marry a rich girl, become a Magister, follow my father’s footsteps and the footsteps of his father before him. And here I am, talking to an elf -a former slave!- in some tawdry tavern lost in the mountains.”

Lan frowned. “Well, I’m not forcing you to talk to me…”

“That’s not where I am going with this,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I don’t mind talking to you. I even enjoy it. If my father knew about this, however...” Dorian paused briefly, as if struck by a memory that required his attention for a second or two. “There is no upside to knowing exactly where you’re from, there’s no sense of belonging that comes with it. All it’s done is remind me I am not what I was supposed to be.”

“But… you have your memories,” Lan pointed out. “You know how you came here and why. What if I’m here because I did something terrible at some point?”

“What, you think I’m a choir boy?” said Dorian, lifting an eyebrow.  “You have accepted a Qunari spy into this Inquisition -do you think the Bull has a spotless past? I’m not certain your spymaster has saved more people than she’s killed, your Commander used to poke mages for fun…”

“They can atone for things they remember,” Lan said.

Dorian clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Life is too short to punish yourself forever, even more so when you have no way of knowing whether you deserve to be punished for anything in the first place.”

“Are you saying it doesn’t matter if I did something horrible?”

“It would matter if you were a terrible person with no desire to better anyone’s life. But you’re the Inquisitor, for the Maker’s sake! If atoning for one’s sin means doing good in this world, then you are doing just that. I envy you, in a way,” Dorian said with a sigh. “You have a chance to start anew, to live the life you want to live without letting the past burden you. Take that chance.”

“But what about Fenris?”

“He has no answer to give you and no desire to help you, does he? Then let him be.”

Dorian said that as if it was easy, as if Lan could just choose to ignore those blanks in his history and what they could mean.

But there was something strangely comforting in hearing someone tell him it did not matter where he came from. All he’d heard since waking up in Haven was how much his blank memories were a problem, how important it was to solve that mystery, what his place in this world was supposed to be. Dorian had known his place in the world and had decided it wasn’t for him -perhaps Lan could also decide what to do with himself all on his own, even if his past was obscured.

There was also some truth to the fact that Lan could not force anything to happen. He could only wait for Fenris to come back, for memories to come to him, for something to happen. 

Dorian was watching him patiently, waiting for some kind of answer. Lan opened his mouth, but a shout from outside cut him off.

“Was that Cassandra?” asked Dorian, twisting in his seat to have a better view through the window.

Lan looked out at the courtyard. He saw Varric all but run toward the armory. And not a second later, Cassandra, charging after him like she was going after a bear.

“Oh crap.” Lan stood at once, sending his chair to the floor. “I need to go. Thank you, Dorian!” Lan shouted as he ran across the tavern.

“You’re welcome… I think,” he heard Dorian say before he was through the door and hurtling toward the armory.

Lan threw the door open. Shouting was coming down from upstairs, then the sound of a body hitting furniture. He reached the top to see Cassandra advancing toward a retreating Varric, fire in her eyes.

“You knew where Hawke was all along!”

She threw Varric violently against the wall. Varric pushed her back.

“You’re damn right I did!”

“You conniving little shit!” shouted Cassandra.

Lan gaped as she took a full swing at Varric, who only just managed to avoid it.

“You kidnapped me!” he shouted back. “You interrogated me! What did you expect?”

Cassandra was winding up for another hit. A barrier popped around Varric as Lan jumped to grab Cassandra’s wrist, pulling her back. 

> _Lan is crying, panicking. He’s shaking from head to toe._
> 
> _‘What happened?’ asks a worried voice. There’s a weight sitting beside him, a warm body trying to give comfort._
> 
> _‘He took her again. I tried to stop him.’_
> 
> _There’s a heavy sigh. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed, you idiot.’_
> 
> _‘They’re hurting her! How can you stand there and do nothing?’_
> 
> _‘_ I _am surviving,” hisses the voice. ‘Thing you have forgotten how to do. Stop throwing yourself in the Master’s path, you can’t stop him!’_

The memory flashed through his mind like a lightning bolt, coming and going in less than a second. Lan blinked against the familiar pain it left behind, but had no time to think as Cassandra was trying to shake her arm out of his hold.

“Hey! Stop it!”

“You’re taking his side?” snarled Cassandra.

“I’m siding with the one who’s not punching!”

Cassandra retracted her arm, though she still clenched her fists at her side. Varric quickly moved next to Lan, who weakened his barrier without dispelling it. The memory was still hanging around but Lan couldn’t quite focus on it. Had he tried to protect someone from his former master...?

“We needed someone to lead the Inquisition,” said Cassandra, anger bleeding in her voice. “Leliana and I looked for the Hero of Ferelden, but she vanished. Then we looked for Hawke and couldn’t find her either. We thought it was connected, but it wasn’t. It was you!” She pointed at Varric. “You kept her from us!”

“The Inquisition has a leader!” protested Varric, turning to Lan.

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave. If anyone could have saved Most Holy…” Cassandra’s voice tailed off.

Lan suddenly felt atrociously out of place. He relegated the memory to the back of his mind. This was a more immediate problem.

“I was protecting my friend,” said Varric.

“Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke, you kept her from us.”

“She’s here now! We’re on the same side!”

“We all know whose side you’re on, Varric, and it will never be the Inquisition’s.”

Varric’s eyes turned dark, in pain or in anger Lan didn’t know. Either way, he couldn’t let this stand.

“Stop it!” Lan snapped. “Just-... Cassandra, leave Varric alone. He’s done nothing but help us. You’re being unfair.”

Cassandra turned around in a huff. “Go, Varric. Just… go.”

Varric looked at Lan, and shook his head. He went to the stairs.

“You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the Conclave she would have died too. You people have done enough to her.”

Lan dropped the barrier as he watched him disappear down the stairs. He could hear Cassandra take calming breaths. Should he leave as well? His presence might just annoy her further…

No, he couldn’t leave her alone. He couldn’t go brood while she stayed here in obvious distress. He took a couple of steps closer instead, careful.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She startled and whirled around, clearly not expecting to find him still here. He stood, unsure what to do now, but she spoke first.

“I… believed him. Varric spun his story and I swallowed it. If only I’d tried to explain what was at stakes, what it would mean… But I didn’t. I treated him like a prisoner and he reacted accordingly.” She looked back at Lan. “I did the same with you.”

Lan shrugged. “Mine was a weird situation, I know that. I’m… sorry.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Oh. You didn’t. You scared me a little, maybe… I know he jokes a lot about it but you can’t _actually_ punch Varric...”

A defeated sigh escaped her as she pulled a chair and sat heavily on it.

“I apologize.”

Lan fidgeted a moment, before crossing the room and taking a seat next to her.

“If you want to talk… I’ll listen. I owe it to you.”

She closed her eyes, taking the time to breathe. “I was a fool. I should have been smarter. I should have been more careful. I don’t deserve to be here.”

Lan started. “I’m sorry? This Inquisition only exists thanks to you.”

“I was here at the right time, and did what seemed needed. I do not claim to be the only person who could have done it, nor the one best suited to the task.”

“Cassandra. I would never have been able to get here without you. You’re the only one who helped me right from the start!”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Need I remind you that you despised me, Inquisitor?”

“No! I thought you were, uh, a little too gruff. I’ve never _hated_ you, I could see from the beginning you were trying to do the right thing. You are the first one who believed me, you supported this Inquisition every step of the way and stood in the Chantry’s path when they tried to tear us down. Nobody else did it. I’m not an idiot,” Lan said. “I know I wasn’t the first choice for Inquisitor, but… you’re the reason why I’m standing here at all.”

“You give me too much credit now,” she said with a frown.

“No. I don’t think I’m giving you enough. If you’re a fool, then this whole Inquisition is a sham. You can’t think like that."

Cassandra gave him a flat look. “You should show that sort of motivation more often, Inquisitor.”

Lan scowled. “I’m plenty motivated!”

“Is Josephine still looking for you as we speak?”

“I… am somewhat motivated,” Lan amended. “I believe in what the Inquisition is doing, at least. And that’s thanks to you. I didn’t care a lot when I first met you, but you didn’t let me stay in my corner. You pushed me on. I think you’re allowed to be a little foolish. I can’t scold you for it, I’m a complete idiot. But you’ve always been a rock. I admire your courage.”

Her gaze softened. “I want you to know, I have no regret. What I said earlier was not meant to hurt you. There is no guarantee Hawke would have accepted to be Inquisitor, and if she had… Maybe the Maker would not have needed to send you.”

“And where would you be then, without a tattooed elf who has some kind of seizures every few days and barely knows how to dance without stepping on his instructor’s toes?”

She smiled genuinely. Lan felt like jumping in joy.

Her eyes slipped off of him and to the open window, looking out at the clear blue sky as the sun reached its zenith. Lan observed her for a little while. When he’d woken up in Haven, he would never have imagined one day sitting in companionable silence with Cassandra, nor wanting to comfort her.

“I know I’m not Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden,” Lan said quietly, “but I won’t let you down. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.”

“Inquisitor…” Her eyes looked into Lan’s. “You are enough as you are. I am not asking you to become Hawke or the Hero.”

Lan’s eyes suddenly started to itch. He took a deep breath and blinked rapidly, hoping to stop the tears.

_You are enough._

Cassandra’s crisis of faith was only directed at herself ; despite it all, she still believed Lan to be the right person for the task.

“Thank you,” he breathed. He rubbed his eyes quickly. “See? You keep helping me. I can’t do this thing without you, Cassandra.”

She was silent for a second. “You are not what I pictured, Inquisitor. But I do believe in you, for better or for worse.”

Lan had a small laugh. “Can I tell you the exact same thing? Because it’s true, but it might just sound like I copied you.”

She groaned, but her lips quirked in an amused smile. Satisfied, Lan left her to gather her thoughts.

It didn’t take him long to find Varric. He was in the main hall, staring into the lit fireplace. An elf’s eyes would have reflected the glow ; the dwarf’s eyes stayed dark even as the light shone on his pupils.

Lan made some noise as he approached and Varric looked over his shoulder briefly. Without saying a word Lan stood beside him, searching for the right words to say.

“Do you want to punch me too?” Varric asked.

“What? No.”

“Ruffles was looking for you this morning. You disappeared.”

Lan shrugged. “Dorian told me he talked to you.”

“I didn’t tell him much, but he’s one of those people who’ve heard enough gossip in their life to guess what’s happening with a minimum of information, isn’t he…He said he found you wandering the halls looking like you’d just had a chat with Corypheus about his life goals. Apparently he looked around, and when he couldn’t find anything he just assumed I had something to do with it. Which is insulting, really.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s _rude_ ,” Varric said emphatically. "But I was fifty-fifty on whether you would hit me the moment you saw me again.”

“I’d never punch you,” Lan said. “I’d never punch anyone and you even less.”

“Never say never,” Varric warned. He turned away from the fire, almost but not quite facing Lan. “You have to know I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I told them everything that seemed important at the time. I told _you_ everything I thought could help you.”

The fire wasn’t doing much to warm up the hall. Lan sent a small jolt of magic in the hearth, making the flames a little bigger, a little hotter.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew where they were?” Lan asked. “I wouldn’t have told Cassandra.”

“Right… at first I didn’t know you well enough. Then I learned enough about you to know you wouldn’t tell anyone if I asked you not to, but that you also can’t lie for shit.”

“Again with that,” Lan grumbled. “I can lie. Just don’t catch me off-guard and I can lie very well.”

“And I know you would not have appreciated having to keep that secret,” Varric continued. “I didn’t want you to have to lie for me. I didn’t want to add to your problems.”

Lan sighed. “Okay.”

Varric looked at him. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I know you didn’t do this to hurt the Inquisition. Cassandra knows it too, she just… has a lot on her mind.”

Varric grunted something non-committal. He rubbed his stubbled cheek, looking very tired in the fire’s light. Lan gently bumped him with his bony hip.

“And I’m Cassandra’s boss, anyway. She can’t touch Hawke if I don’t want her to. I don’t even need to fiddle with her insides or anything, I just have to give an order. It’s great.”

Varric gave a brief laugh, which Lan counted as a victory.

“It’s gonna be all right, Varric.”

“You’re an optimist, now?”

“Uh…” Lan frowned. “Is that what this is? Feels weird.”

Varric leaned against the mantelpiece, crossing his arms on his chest. His eyes flitted around the hall, briefly settling on the people coming and going.

“I keep hoping all of this is just a bad dream. That this red lyrium stuff will go away and leave us alone, and everyone can go home.”

“Oh that’d be great,” Lan said dreamily. “But with my kind of luck, I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“And there goes your optimism.”

Lan snorted. “I tried.”

Varric shook his head. “You really are sort of a disaster magnet, aren’t you. You should get along with Hawke splendidly.”

“Really? Your book makes it sound like she can solve all the problems of the world.”

“Yeah, see, that’s why Cassandra doesn’t know how lucky she is. The Champion of Kirkwall would have been an awesome Inquisitor… Hawke, not so much.”

“Ah. So all the lies in your book are now biting you in the ass?”

“Something like that… I think you’re doing a pretty good job of it. Possibly better than she would have done.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“So… are you okay?” Varric asked. “You really don’t hate me for that little surprise?”

”No,” said Lan honestly. He didn’t think he could hate Varric if he tried ; but the dwarf seemed to be genuinely anxious about it, and Lan felt a stab of guilt for it. What had he done to ever make Varric think Lan could resent him? “Varric… did I ever thank you?”

“A lot.”

“I’m not talking about thanking you for little things,” Lan corrected. “I mean, genuinely thank you, for everything you’ve done for me. For thinking about me all the time, and sticking by my side without asking for anything in return. I trust you, Varric. I don’t care if you’re still hiding three of my family members in your closet. I just-... I’m very sorry you thought you had to hide your friends to protect them from harm. But I won’t let anyone get to them, because I trust you, and I know you cherish them.”

Lan kept his eyes on the fire as he finished talking, resolutely not looking at Varric, unsure what he would see in the dwarf’s eyes. But he’d said what he wanted to say, at least.

“So… is this the part where you hug me again?” Varric asked eventually, and Lan let out a short laugh.

“You want a hug?”

“You’ve never bothered to find out before. You just do it.”

“Fine.” Lan reached out with an arm and brought Varric in a brief side-hug. “There.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want to do it.”

“No, I did,” said Lan.

“And for the record, I am not keeping any more of your family members in my closet or anywhere else. You two are the only tattooed elves I know.”

“Imagine Cassandra’s face if there were more of us...” He listened to Varric chuckle and felt warmth blossom in his chest. “Must have been great to see Hawke again, huh?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Varric admitted.

“You think she’s safe?”

“Nope. But she’s got Fenris, he won’t let her get hurt. We’ll see them again soon enough… don’t worry, Fenris will be a lot easier to talk to once he’s had a few days to think it over.”

“I’m not worried,” said Lan. “Well… I’m not worried about Fenris. I’m more worried about myself. He’s right, you know ; if Danarius is the one who gave us both these tattoos, we should have seen each other at some point. It makes no sense.”

Varric patted him on the back. “I’m old enough to know unpleasant truths never stay hidden for long. You’ll find out.”

“Can’t wait,” Lan mumbled.

But he couldn’t bring himself to be gloomy. He could just relish the fact that he’d managed to uplift Cassandra, and that Varric no longer looked so sad. He also remembered the memory from earlier, and now he knew his past self had tried to protect someone defenceless. He could tell himself that he agreed with Dorian and the past should not matter, but… this small fact still made him feel a thousand times better.

* * *

Josephine had obviously given up on him and was now buried in letter writing. She stared at him when Lan sheepishly opened the door to her study, but thankfully she had heard about Hawke’s reappearance and assumed Lan’s own disappearance was due to dealing with the fallout. Which wasn’t false…

She informed him she had found a dance instructor, that they would be ready for him after lunch. It gave Lan a little time to himself. The sun was shining, and his feet, determined to lead him as far away from the dance lessons as possible, got him to the gardens.

He didn’t come here often enough. It was peaceful. A lot of Tranquils tended to the plants here, nobody ever raised their voice, and the walls all around protected it from most of the bad weather and the cold wind. And under an archway, sitting in a chair in front of a chessboard, hands linked and apparently lost in thoughts, Lan caught sight of Cullen.

He paused, surprised. The Commander looked a lot better than the last time Lan had seen him up close.

“Hello,” Lan tried.

Cullen startled and immediately rose from his seat.

“Inquisitor.”

“Are you playing against yourself?”

The Commander’s eyes fell on the board, and he laughed softly.

“Blackwall was my opponent. He just left. I wanted to spend a little time enjoying the sun before going to my duties.”

“Oh. Sorry to bother you.”

“Wait,” called Cullen. Lan turned back to him. “Do you play?”

“No…”

“Care to learn?” The Commander laughed again when Lan stared at him. “No offense, Inquisitor, but you look a little lost.”

Lan winced. “... I, uh. Had a weird morning.”

Cullen gestured at the board. “I find it helps me clear my mind.”

Lan hesitated a second, before taking the seat opposite him. “Are you sure it doesn’t bother your quiet time?”

“It was over anyway,” said the Commander easily as he arranged the board. “My mind is never quiet for long.”

Lan picked up one of the pieces and studied it. “Is that supposed to be a teapot?”

The Commander started explaining the rules. It was fairly complicated ; by the time Cullen finished, Lan found that he had forgotten half of it already. They started a game as Cullen promised to go easy on him, but Lan still lost very quickly. He scowled at one of his teapots.

“That’s a stupid game. Can we try again?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” said Cullen with a smirk.

He won again, despite taking the time to explain more moves. Lan insulted him in elven under his breath. “Again. I’m going to win.”

“Are you? Dorian has been saying the same thing for about a month now.”

“You play with Dorian?”

“Sometimes. He is quite skilled but still has to beat me once. He tried to cheat several times. I still won.” Cullen’s smirk was growing.

“I get it, you’re a genius,” grumbled Lan. “I’ll ask Josephine to get you a statue in your honor…”

He lost the next game too, and somehow, even faster than the other two.

“It’s not fair. You’ve been playing this a lot longer than I have. You’re playing hard on purpose!”

“You are a sore loser, Inquisitor,” Cullen informed him, obviously greatly amused by this.

“Well, maybe you should just go out there and challenge Corypheus to a game. You’re not doing everything you can for this Inquisition, Commander.”

“Maybe not,” said Cullen.

He was still smiling, but something about this answer had Lan looking at him a little more closely. He did look healthier than last time, there was no doubt about it, but still a bit shaky, maybe.

“Have you fixed the hole in your roof yet?”

“You know,” said Cullen as he set the board up again, “Leliana stopped by a few days ago to ask me this very question. I found it quite odd, she’s seen my study several times before without commenting on it.” He glanced at Lan, who shrugged even though he could feel heat creep into his ears.

“I don’t know how Leliana’s mind works.”

“No, of course not.” Cullen’s eyes flicked to Lan’s ears. “I am thinking about it, Inquisitor. Our workers are actually busy with building an infirmary and making sure the ceiling in the hall isn’t going to crush anyone. I promise I’ll ask whenever things have settled.”

Lan threw in the towel after his fourth defeat. It had barely taken any time at all.

“You are getting better,” said Cullen.

“You’re being nice. This is just not my thing.”

“Do you have a game you’re good at, then?”

“No. I’ve never really played those kinds of games. Or any other games. Or, well, I invented a game for myself back when I travelled with the Lavellans, to pass the time. I had to link constellations together and… you don’t care,” he realized quickly, rubbing his arms in embarrassment.

Cullen smiled indulgently. “You know that much about constellations?”

“I had a lot of time to myself when I was with the Clan.” His voice tapered off as memories flooded him. “Have you heard about what happened to them?”

“It seems Leliana is dealing with it quite well.”

“Yes, I think she is.” Lan sighed.

“Do you miss them?” asked Cullen softly.

“I don’t know. They don’t miss me.”

“But it was your home. You can’t help but miss a place who housed you for years, even if it was far from perfect.”

“I guess so,” agreed Lan. “Do you… do you consider Kirkwall home?”

“Oh, no,” said Cullen, almost as if the idea of it scared him. “No. My family is from Honnleath…”

Lan listened carefully as the Commander recounted memories from his childhood. It seemed he’d had a very nice family. Lan couldn’t imagine ever leaving loving parents and siblings behind the way Cullen had, it made no sense to him.

They talked for a while, just the two of them, slowly warming up under the sun. The conversation eventually drifted to Samson, and Cullen produced a rolled-up parchment from somewhere upon his person.

“The notes from our new arcanist, Dagna. Have you met her?”

“Not yet,” Lan admitted as he took the parchment and opened it. He stared at it, blinking. He knew he couldn’t read well at all, but this… this was some atrocious handwriting.

“The letters you found in the Emprise du Lion mentioned something about an armor made from red lyrium.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lan said. He tried turning the parchment sideways, but it didn’t help. “It’d kill anyone right away.”

“Samson found a way to make one. Dagna had some thoughts about it.”

Lan rolled the parchment back up. “Can you give me more details?” he asked.

Cullen did not catch the problem and started talking. Lan set the parchment aside. How in the name of Dirthamen was he ever going to read this…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahhh finally I found the time to post this new chapter! A lot of talking here, but Lan's emotional capacity needs to expand a little, right...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books, Fenris, and more Fenris.

Lan quite liked the library. It was always a little quieter than the rest of the castle, squeezing yourself between two bookshelves made you invisible to passing eyes, and apart from Dorian, Solas or a few Tranquils, there weren’t that many people around.

Those were the only reasons Lan ever visited this place. Picking out books had never been his intent -until today. For the first time he went through the shelves, examining the very eclectic collection. Chantry lore, history, geography, mathematics, magical theories. A few were in foreign languages. Another few were handwritten -and among those, two were talking about Lyrium. Lan chose them

He spread them open on the small table that Dorian had dragged into his usual spot. Lan annexed the chair as well and perched himself on the arm, his feet on the seat. He then unrolled Cullen’s parchment and set it to the side for comparison.

Well, there was no question about it -the Commander’s handwriting was a disaster. Lan still attempted to match words, but he didn’t get very far.

“At least sit on the chair, you barbaric elf.”

Lan nearly fell off his perch. “What?” he yelped, turning toward the voice.

Dorian was standing there and watching him disapprovingly. “Your muddy boots are where my delicate buttocks like to rest.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Lan slid off the chair and quickly wiped the dirt off the seat. “It was the only free chair left.”

“You say ‘chair’ and yet use it as a glorified footrest…” Dorian walked closer and picked up one of the books. “...Why are you reading about the state of the lyrium trade in the Storm Age?”

“Err, well…” Lan snatched up the parchment. “Here. You’re used to reading.”

Dorian’s brow creased in confusion. “What’s this now? Secret code? Forgotten language? Fly who stepped in ink and then walked all over the paper?”

“Notes from Cullen.”

“That’s our dear Commander’s handwriting?” asked Dorian, outraged. He started walking back and forth between the two bookshelves, squinting at the parchment. “No wonder you can’t read it. How does anyone read it, for that matter? How do his officers do it? I suspect a pact with a demon, you should really worry about that.”

“Can you get anything?” Lan asked.

“Well, either Cullen wants a ‘neat lupine duvet’, or it’s notes about a red lyrium armor. And it seems we have a new Arcanist named Odfile, which is rather sad. I liked Dagna.”

Lan snickered while Dorian paced, deciphering the rest of the note out loud. There wasn’t anything in it that Cullen hadn’t told Lan already.

“How do you manage to read his reports when I’m not around?” asked Dorian.

Lan’s laugh cut short. He squirmed a little. “Josephine reads everything important out loud in the war room. It’s quicker.”

“They never give you anything to read by yourself?”

They did. There was a pile of papers on the desk in his quarters, and it grew daily. He did read them... slowly. Josephine had the amazing habit of putting the most important messages and letters on top of any pile she gave him, and Lan dutifully deciphered those whenever it was required. For the rest, he usually stared at them a while before giving up. A number of inconsequential reports, of letters asking for small favors, or just random messages with nothing particularly important to say -all of those were spread around his desk and purposefully forgotten.

“What’s the problem?” Dorian asked as Lan suddenly realized he’d been silent for a while and fidgeting nervously.

“Nothing,” Lan said quickly, but his traitorous ears were feeling uncomfortably warm.

“I have seen you read,” Dorian said, looking a bit confused. “I know you can do it.”

 _Damn it._ “I can read,” Lan said, nearly in a whisper. “Just not well. And nobody has the same blighted handwriting in the first place…”

“Ah.” There was a short silence. “What I’m hearing is that you need practice.”

“I’m fine!”

“How many unread letters are waiting for you right now?”

“... some.”

Dorian shook his head. “Are you free for the evening?”

And so, a little while later, Lan was lying on his back on the floor of Dorian’s bedroom ; both legs up against the bed, arms spread on either side of him, and an open book resting on his face.

He’d steadily lost his enthusiasm. He’d started sitting on the bed, then had moved on to sitting on the floor, and finally lying on the floor ; but then keeping his arms up above his head to hold the book had quickly become annoying. Dorian had was making him go through that boring lyrium book and wasn’t allowing his usual trick of only reading the words he recognized and somehow reconstructing a full sentence from them, which meant he’d read the same word ten times without understanding it. He’d finally given up and released the book, letting it hit him in the face.

“I hate reading.”

“Such blasphemy,” said Dorian. “You’re not doing badly, even if your current method seems to be more guess-work than reading… you cannot stop there, there are too many useless reports and boring letters waiting for you, Inquisitor.”

“Can’t you read them for me?”

“What am I, your valet?” Dorian lifted the book off Lan’s face and looked at it. “‘Thoroughfare’. That’s the word you’re caught on.”

“It’s ridiculous. These letters aren’t supposed to make that sound, that’s not what I learned!”

“And what did you learn, exactly?”

Lan sighed and sat up, swivelling around to face Dorian. “The Lavellans taught me the basics. Their Keeper has a scroll about constellations in Thedas, I read that over and over until it became easier. Ah,” said Lan, realizing something. “It also gave me the old names for them. I know some Tevene!”

“So you cannot read thoroughfare, but you can read Peraquialus?”

“Uh... well, I can read it. I had no idea it was pronounced like that, though.”

“It is when you’re from Tevinter and know how it is supposed to be pronounced.”

“So how would you pronounce E...lu…via?” Lan stumbled a little over a word he’d never tried to say out loud.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“The constellation of the Sacrifice.”

“Oh. _Eluvia_ ,” said Dorian, his tongue giving a pleasant lilt to the word.

“Eluvia,” repeated Lan.

“Not bad,” said Dorian, appreciative. “Surprisingly good, even.”

“You should teach me Tevene. It sounds better.”

Dorian chuckled. “Nobody really speaks Tevene anymore, _mitis amicus_ . It only serves to appear cultured at dinner parties. Only in Tevinter, mind you -I do not think learning the Old Tongue is going to endear you to the Orlesian nobility.” Dorian held the book out. “Improve your Trade first, _pulcherrimus_.”

“Pul-what?” Lan took the book, squinting at the spark he could see in Dorian’s eyes. “You’re just mocking me now.”

“ _Nequaquam_.”

“Stop it.” Lan opened the book, eyes rolling over the words. “Why do people insist on writing letters their own special way… what’s the point...” he grumbled. “What’s your penmanship like?”

“Perfect. What about yours?” shot back Dorian.

Lan opened his mouth, then closed it, and Dorian let out a despairing sigh.

“Of course you don’t know how to write.”

“I never have to write anything, Josephine handles it! I just sign my name on her letters.”

“Which you don’t read. She could make you sign an official statement putting the Inquisition under the direct control of Orzammar and you wouldn’t even know it. How in the Maker’s name is this place running as smoothly as it is?”

Lan scowled. “I can write, Dorian, it just looks worse than Cullen’s and I’m not good with spelling. And I do read before signing! I’m not that stupid.”

“Good to know.” Dorian tapped a finger against his chin in thought. “Well, it just means I have something else to help you with. You’ll be fine,” he added gently as Lan groaned and flopped back on the floor. “It’s not hard.”

“You can say that,” Lan said to the ceiling. “You’ve been writing since you were six I bet.”

“Four, actually. I was a very precocious child.”

Lan sighed in defeat. For all his boasting, Dorian had never lied about how clever he was. Now, he was stuck teaching the blighted Inquisitor how to read.

“I’m sorry,” Lan mumbled. “Maybe I should tell Josephine, get a teacher…”

“And deprive me of the sight of the great Inquisitor acting as my rug? Perish the thought.”

Lan bent his head backward so he could look at Dorian. “It’s easier to deal with failure when you’re lying on the floor.”

“Oh, Maker,” said Dorian, bringing a hand to his brow. “And they say _I’m_ melodramatic… get up, you lump, before I wipe my feet on you. Sit at the desk. I want to see what this terrible handwriting of yours looks like.”

As always, Dorian remained patient with him. By the time the night forced them to light candles, Lan had managed to write a couple of letters, including one to one of Dorian’s friends in Tevinter (which he was rather surprised to learn about. He hadn’t thought Dorian had any friends left up there), and he felt a little better about himself.

“We’ll have you crafting entire novels soon.”

Lan grimaced as he shook his wrist, trying to dissipate the dull pain in it. “I don’t have the imagination for it.”

“Well, that’s true,” teased Dorian. “You are very dull.”

Lan snorted. “Can you say that in Tevene?”

“I suppose I could start enumerating your defaults one by one in a language nobody cares about anymore, but it would take some time. Ice that wrist, you’ll feel better.”

Lan did as he was told, calling ice to his left fingertips and resting them over the painful points in his right wrist. The magical current felt a little odd as it went through the Anchor.

> _\--he soothes the endless cuts on her body by conjuring a little ice on his palms and tries to ignore how pale she’s become--_

“--to Orlais and -are you listening to me?”

Lan blinked. Dorian was looking at him. “What?”

“Well, that answers my question.”

“I’m sorry.” Lan slipped his hands into his pockets and closed them into fists. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. What were you saying?”

“The Winter Palace. The ball is next week. I have been made to understand my presence is required.”

“Well, yeah. All the key members are going to be there.”

“Ooh, I’m a key member?” said Dorian. “Lucky me.”

“Is there a problem?” Lan asked, straightening up on his chair, but Dorian waved a dismissive hand in the air.

“Not for me. I’m simply wondering if you really want the hassle of throwing a Tevinter in the middle of Orlesians.”

Lan tilted his head. “If it makes you uncomfortable--”

“As I said,” Dorian interrupted, “it’s not about me. I’m used to the Magisterium ; the Orlesian Court looks like child’s play by comparison. But there will be whispers, it’s inevitable. I’m simply making sure the Inquisition doesn’t mind those.”

Lan shrugged. “The Inquisitor doesn’t mind.”

Dorian chuckled. “You really have no respect for Orlesian nobles, do you?”

“Not really,” Lan admitted. “I think it’s the masks… and the clothes… and…”

“The condescension?”

“That too,” Lan said, then smiled a little. “It’s a lot easier to deal with nobles when you’re here to mock them with me.”

“Then I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see their faces when they announce my name…”

Lan stood up and stretched, grimacing when various parts of his body popped loudly. His muscles were aching from being hunched over a book or a desk for hours.

“I won’t keep you any longer,” Dorian said. “You need to sleep some time...you really should start going through those letters collecting dust on your desk. It’s good practice.”

“Ugh…” sighed Lan. “It’s a big pile…”

“Tsk. The world has never seen such a lazy Inquisitor…”

“The world’s only seen one Inquisitor before me and he was some kind of ancient holy warrior who killed dragons for fun. I can’t compete.”

“Lazy, but humble,” Dorian amended. “Careful that doesn’t become the title of your biography.”

“Why not? It’s good enough.” Lan rolled his shoulders, untangling knots underneath his skin. “You haven’t read my markings in a few days,” he said slowly. “They’ve been so quiet lately…”

“It’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” Lan said, rubbing an arm. “Or it means it’ll hurt even more next time they wake up.”

“Well… I can still take a look.” Dorian gestured at his bed. “Just don’t lie on the floor.”

It went quickly. Dorian’s reading yielded nothing new. Lan spent a few minutes thanking him for everything anyway.

In his quarters, he quickly got into comfortable night clothes and sat down on the fluffy rug, a candle on one side and a pile of letters on the other. Cross-legged, Lan glanced around the room. Creators, it really was lonely in this big room by himself. He quickly buried himself in the letters, ignoring the oppressing silence.

* * *

It was an odd thing, to be walking through the garden minding your own business and suddenly spot yourself standing at the other end of it. For the slightest second Lan could only stare, confused ; then his mind caught up with reality, and he approached Fenris with cautious but noisy steps. A twitch of Fenris’ ears told Lan that he’d been heard but the elf’s eyes remained locked on something else. Lan followed his gaze.

“Ah.”

Fenris turned to him. “That is who Varric was talking about in his letters, then,” he said flatly, designating Dorian with a jerk of his chin. “Your Tevinter ally.”

Dorian, who was playing chess with the Commander under the shade of a tree, and was too busy trying to retain some dignity to notice his audience.

“Yes…” Lan said. “He’s nice.”

Fenris didn’t even react. Lan still felt like he’d just said Corypheus was secretly a sweetheart.

“Dorian’s been helping the Inquisition,” he added. “Actually I would have died without him. At least four times. When did you get here?” he asked when Fenris’ flat stare started to get really, really unnerving. “How come I’m only seeing you now? Where’s Hawke?”

“We did what we had to do. We’re here to report. Hawke went to look for the Seeker to properly introduce herself now that she has been assured nobody will try to imprison her -not that they would have succeeded.”

“What did you find?”

“The Warden found a hiding place in Crestwood. He has been collecting information about what is happening to the Wardens, he will explain when you meet him.”

“Good.”

Lan’s thoughts stopped there, despite his restless need to fill the silence between them. He’d never been good at small talk ; adding Fenris to the mix made this about as easy as dental surgery on a Pride Demon. Lan wanted to ask him some things but he had no idea how to go from “good weather we’re having” to “so how did it feel to kill your former master and torturer?”

But Fenris’ eyes slipped off of Lan and back to Dorian, who had now been beaten and was talking with Cullen. He did notice this time, and briefly looked up, locking eyes with Fenris for a second before going back to his conversation. Fenris’ eyes narrowed and he shifted his stance a little. A ray of sunshine caught the massive sword strapped to his back.

“Don’t do anything to him,” said Lan.

Fenris huffed something that might have been a laugh. “Is that an order?”

“A plea.” Lan was pretty sure he would not be able to stop Fenris if he suddenly lunged at Dorian. Dorian would definitely be able to defend himself though, and that would just end badly for everyone involved. “I know… considering what happened to you, you can’t really see him as anything more than a slaver, but he’s really a good man.”

“Unless you lied about the lyrium in your skin, what happened to me also happened to you.”

Lan’s mouth clicked shut. Fenris fully turned to him and planted his intense eyes in Lan’s.

“Does he own slaves?”

Lan’s stomach dropped like a stone. “I… I don’t know.”

Fenris saw right through him. “You don’t know, or you are ignoring it?”

“I’m not ignoring anything.”

“You don’t look like you are protesting.”

“He’s not like that. He fled Tevinter.”

“Does he disavow slavery?”

Lan wanted to answer ‘yes’. He really, really did. But he stayed silent instead, and Fenris let out a disappointed sort of sigh.

“I heard about House Pavus while I was still under Danarius’ control. They are influential and well respected. An integral part of Tevinter society, they navigate its horrors with all the selfishness and wilful cruelty it requires.” Fenris’ eyes flicked toward Dorian. “ _He_ has been raised with these people -by these people. He has been hearing their ideas since the moment he could understand words. That’s what he is made of. I’m sure he believes magic and mages should be free to do as they please...”

“So what? I’m a mage!” protested Lan. “So is Hawke!”

“You are as capable of slipping as anyone else,” said Fenris with a shrug. “But, you are surrounded by people who can and will stop you if you stray. Hawke is different, and I cannot explain why to someone who accepts a Magister’s presence without question.”

“He’s not a Magister. Dorian is different too,” he said firmly. Fenris made a mocking little sound.

“Fenris!” Cullen was walking toward them. While they were talking, Dorian had slipped away, unseen.

“Knight-Captain,” greeted Fenris with a nod.

“No, not anymore. It’s Commander now, and no longer a templar. Are you here alone?”

“Hawke is talking with your seeker.”

“Oh. They’re going to get along like two peas in a pod,” said Cullen under his breath. “How have you been since…?”

“Running. Trying and failing to keep out of politics. It did not go well last time.”

“Not through any fault of yours,” said Cullen. “I shudder to think what would have happened if Hawke and the rest of you hadn’t been there.”

“You play chess with Tevinter mages nowadays?” asked Fenris all of a sudden. “You have changed.”

Cullen looked taken aback. “Dorian’s a friend.”

“A friend.”

Cullen sighed. “Rancour did not suit me very well. I’m trying something new.”

“Yes. Let’s trust a powerful mage with a sketchy past and ties to blood magic and demons. That always ends well.”

He turned around and walked away without another word.

Cullen shook his head. “It’s always great to see old friends…”

“Would he attack Dorian?” asked Lan nervously.

“Attack?” repeated Cullen. “I don’t think so. Fenris is not stupid, he won’t attack someone without cause… but I did ask Dorian to stay away for now. That man does enjoy goading people and I do not think Fenris is going to enjoy Tevinter sarcasm...”

Lan rubbed his arm. “Dorian is a good man… right?”

“Yes,” answered Cullen after a short pause. “I do believe so.”

“Do you know if-… I mean, what he thinks about slavery?”

“I think you should ask him, Inquisitor, not me.”

“But he would have told me if he thought it’s wrong. Wouldn’t he?”

“Inquisitor, I can’t help you. Ask him, he’ll give you a straight answer. Whatever his opinion, he obviously thinks highly of you.”

Lan snorted derisively. “Highly. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Should we, uh, go see Cassandra before she hunts us down?”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

The war room was unusually full, with the advisors, Hawke, and Fenris.

They discussed the Grey Wardens problem for a long while. Reports of darkspawn and odd rifts were coming in from Crestwood, making planning a trip over there slightly more difficult than they’d hoped. When the meeting broke, it wasn’t because anyone had declared it so but because of a loud knocking on the door.

Lan frowned at it like it was being unnecessarily rude. Nobody had ever disturbed the council before.

“Sister Nightingale!” called a young voice from the other side. “I have an urgent message for you!”

Leliana had opened the door before the boy had finished talking. She snatched the letter from his hand and closed the door over him with a brief ‘thank you’. They stayed silent while she read. Her face was impassive from start to finish, then she looked up.

“Inquisitor. It’s your clan.”

“What?” asked Lan. “What happened?”

“It seems the bandits weren’t bandits. My scouts inform me they were hired by the Duke of Wycome specifically to go after the Dalish. Rumors are spreading through the city that they’re responsible for a plague currently decimating the population. Your Keeper is asking for protection.”

“We’ll send troops immediately.” Lan looked at Cullen, who nodded.

“We have men in the Free Marches.”

“Do it. Quickly. Leliana, coordinate with him.”

“Right away, your Worship.”

Cullen and Leliana left. Silence followed in their wake, until Cassandra declared the end of the meeting.

“The Commander will protect your people,” promised Josephine, patting him warmly on the shoulder as she passed him.

He offered her a smile, but his stomach was still tied up. He watched them all stream out, until he was alone in the room. Or so he thought.

“So you have a Clan?”

Lan jumped out of his skin and turned toward Fenris.

“Err, not really. They just picked me up after Tevinter.”

“Varric explained your story in broad terms. He said Tal Vashoths smuggled you out.”

Lan sighed. He started explaining how he came to be with the Lavellans -or what he knew about it, anyway. After all, he knew everything about Fenris’ past thanks to Tale of the Champion and Varric’s campfire stories ; Fenris should know just as much about him in return.

“So you hold no love for them,” Fenris said once Lan was finished.

“I never said that.”

“You implied it quite heavily. And yet you do not hesitate to help them when they ask.”

Lan stared at him. Then his eyes slowly fell to the floor.

“Some of them were nicer to me than I deserved. I scared them and they still let me stay with them, shared their resources with me, hid me from the templars.”

“Reluctant pity,” analyzed Fenris.

“Still better than most would do! And I can’t leave a whole clan to get slaughtered anyway, no matter what they’re done in the past. What have I done that would make you think I’d be fine with that?”

Fenris tilted his head. “I did not mean to insult you, I was merely curious.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I do admire your readiness to help, even if I find it naive.”

“Well. Let me be naive then.”

He shook his head. “It is not my problem. But since this meeting is over, we could try working on your markings.”

“What?” asked Lan with a start. “You want to help me?”

“I don’t see any reason to refuse. I’m not sure how I can help… but I might as well try, before you hurt someone.” Fenris marked a pause. “Unless you do not want me to--”

“No!” said Lan quickly. “No, that’s- that’d be great. Um… let’s just go to my quarters.”

They attracted some odd looks as they walked through the Main Hall side by side. Lan chose to ignore them, but Fenris obviously disliked the experience. Lan heard him release a breath when the door to his quarters closed behind them.

“This is your bedroom?” asked Fenris upon reaching the top of the stairs, eyes jumping around.

“I didn’t choose it,” said Lan, heat creeping into his cheeks. “They just dumped it on me. I tried to tell them it could be made into a dormitory for the Tranquils, but apparently it’s not great for the Inquisitor to bunk up with other people.”

“You would have slept here? With the Tranquils?”

“We’ve put them all in a tiny room while we find somewhere better… I don’t mind them,” lied Lan.

Months of seeing dozens of Tranquils wander Skyhold had taught him not to jump every time he met their eyes, but it still chilled him. It wasn’t their fault, though, and sleeping in a room full of Tranquils was probably exceedingly safe.

He cleared his throat. “So, um… what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” said Fenris.

Lan blinked at him. “Well… that’s… going to be a problem.”

“I do not have an instruction manual. Give me your arm.”

With a sigh, Lan rolled up his sleeve and offered his right arm.

“No, the other one.”

Lan winced but obeyed, offering his left arm instead. Fenris took his wrist and scowled as the Anchor let out a little jolt of green energy. He pulled off one of his metal gauntlet, revealing the lyrium lines going up his fingers.

“Wow. You really have them everywhere,” Lan said, fascinated despite himself.

“I am guessing they were supposed to be everywhere on you too, if the ritual had worked.”

“Do you know why it failed?” Lan asked.

“I do not know much about it,” Fenris said with a small shrug, “but I know two things : it is exceedingly painful, and the test subject has to stay perfectly still for the duration.”

“Still? Why?”

“All I know is what Danarius told me, so take it with a grain of salt. But it seems the ritual needs its recipient to have a very strong mind and high resilience. Moving is a sign of weakness.”

Lan blinked. “So it failed on me because I _moved_? That’s it? I just moved?”

“I have no idea,” said Fenris, placid. “I wasn’t there. This is the extent of my knowledge and it does not come from a reliable source.” Fenris touched his index finger to Lan’s markings. “I want to try something…”

His brands activated briefly and the Anchor immediately spluttered in response. Fenris looked up as Lan twitched.

“Did it hurt?”

“No. Huh, it just feels really weird.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him. Lan felt the pressure on his arm increase, more and more, until he couldn’t help but cry out.

“Are you trying to break my arm?”

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“You’re squeezing like a vice, of course it hurts!”

“Your markings.”

“Not at the moment.”

Fenris released him and took a step back. “They don’t hurt?”

“Sometimes. Solas -you met Solas?- says the lyrium sort of feeds on the Anchor, or the other way around. It hurts then.”

“Hmmm,” was all Fenris had to say to this. “This magic used on you… it feels familiar. It is either Danarius’, or someone who learned from him. It is too similar to be a coincidence.”

Lan nodded slowly. “So…”

“So it doesn’t matter right now. Close your eyes and try to do as I tell you.”

Fenris attempted to explain how to feel the lyrium inside, as he said this was the first step toward controlling the brands at all. Lan, however, found himself unable to do it, no matter how many times he tried.

“I don’t understand,” groaned Fenris almost an hour after they started. “I could feel them the moment I woke up. I cannot _not_ feel them!”

Lan shrugged uselessly, and it seemed to make Fenris’ frustration grow. He let out a string of Tevene curse words that Lan had heard Dorian use on occasion.

They were interrupted by a loud knock and Hawke calling for Fenris. Fenris went down the few steps and wrenched the door open.

“I am a little bit busy, Hawke.”

“I need to talk to you a minute. Sorry, Inquisitor,” she shouted, “I’ll bring him back.”

Lan sat on the bed. He looked down at his arms, at the shaky grey lines on his skin. Fenris’ tattoos looked… well, he couldn’t bring himself to say they looked ‘good’ knowing where they came from, but they looked useful at least. When people saw Fenris, they saw power. Not that Lan wanted people to be scared of him, but if he had to have tattoos, it wouldn’t hurt if they actually looked like something instead of those interrupted squiggles.

Fenris’ voice floated from behind the closed door as he shouted, “Are you insane?”

Lan perked up, straining his ears, but Hawke’s answer was too low to catch.

“That is not a plan!” retorted Fenris. “It’s nothing!”

A few more sentences that Lan couldn’t quite catch, and then with a final “Go, then!”, Fenris wrenched the door open and stomped back in.

Lan felt himself whither as Fenris’ furious gaze found him.

“This is all your fault,” declared Fenris.

“What he means,” said Hawke as she followed him up the stairs, “is ‘thank you for the hospitality for the next week or so’.”

“Uh…” Lan glanced at Fenris, then back at Hawke. “You’re staying?”

“He is.”

Fenris was gritting his teeth. “You know I can follow you.”

Hawke’s hand went to pat him on the cheek, but Fenris reacted insanely fast and snatched her wrist in the air before she could touch him. He lowered it but did not release her, keeping his grip loose enough not to hurt but obviously tight enough to keep her by his side.

“I know you won’t,” Hawke said, her voice low and full of warmth, “because you won’t betray my trust.” She turned to Lan. “I had a talk with Cassandra. I’m going to Crestwood on my own -I’ll meet up with Alistair, secure the place if I can and send back more detailed reports so the Inquisition can get to us. Fenris will stay here until you both come meet me. Is that all right with you?”

“Me? What? Yes. You should tell Josephine. She’ll want to know, give Fenris a room, and uh…” Lan trailed off. “But you’ll be alone…”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” said Hawke. “You do, on the other hand, Inquisitor. You need him in case your markings go crazy on you.”

“He doesn’t need me.” Fenris was glaring intensely at Lan, daring him to say otherwise.

Thankfully for everyone involved, Lan didn’t want to say otherwise. “I’ll be fine.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Fenris.” Hawke looked him in the eyes. “You are needed here.”

Fenris held her gaze for a good five seconds. Then Lan watched him deflate, a slow breath escaping between tight lips. He let go of her wrist.

“If we don’t get a crow from you in a few days, I am coming for you.”

“That’s fair.” She brought a hand to Fenris’ cheek, this time unimpeded. She smiled. “I promise I will come back to you.”

Fenris only grunted in response, but his face fell when Hawke removed her hand and turned toward Lan.

“I’m leaving as soon as they’ve finished preparing my horse. Inquisitor… “ Hawke smiled at him and gave him a military salute. “Take care of him.”

“… okay.”

“Wait!” Fenris ran after her as she turned on her heels and disappeared down the stairs again, leaving Lan alone.

Well… huh.

He needed to find Varric. And Dorian. Maybe Josephine, too. And… oh Maker, Fenris in the castle meant _everyone_ was going to see him and his resemblance to Lan -they needed a strategy, a coordinated lie to tell people before rumors could grow. And what if someone recognized Fenris from Varric’s book?

Lan flopped on his bed, face down, and let out a long, mournful moan into the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Fenris! And this time he's staying. 
> 
> The Tevene I used is just basically latin. 'mitis amicus' is 'naive friend', 'pulcherrimus' is 'pretty', and 'nequaquam' is 'not at all'. 
> 
> And yes, you absolutely can write 'red lyrium armor' badly enough that it looks like 'neat lupine duvet'. Same for Dagna and Odfile.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lan's terrible, awful, no good, very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty long chapter this time.

Three days after Hawke's departure, Lan woke up with a start.

His lower body was trapped in sheets drenched in sweat. A nightmare he couldn’t remember sat on his chest like a bag of rocks, left his markings burning under his skin and the Anchor fizzling.

The pain wasn’t bad but it was constant, eventually forcing Lan to leave his room looking for help. His first thought was Solas, but the elf’s study was empty. Instead of looking for him Lan climbed the steps and went to Dorian’s room.

His knocking was quickly answered. Dorian’s eyes narrowed at him, something rather angry shining in them. Lan took a step back without really meaning to.

“Ah, it’s you.” Dorian relaxed, but only a little.

Lan hesitated. “Is something wrong?” he asked, and clamped his hands behind his back to stop the tremors running through his arms. “Can I help?”

“It depends on how much control you have over your brother.”

“My-uh…” Lan blinked. “I have none. And he’s not my brother,” he added.

Dorian looked at him a moment without moving, before letting out a long sigh. His posture softened, the anger in his eyes dissipating.

“I apologize. I’m wound up… it’s not your fault if he’s being a pain.”

“You met him?”

“If you count catching him staring at me from the other end of the room as ‘meeting’, then yes, I did,” Dorian said. “Did you know he’s started interrogating people around the castle? About me and what they know of my life before the Inquisition.”

“... Ah,” Lan said softly. “So asking me wasn’t enough for him, then.”

“He asked you about me?”

“Yeah. I told him I trusted you, but it looks like he doesn’t think my opinion is worth anything,” Lan mumbled dejectedly.

Dorian gave a short laugh. “I don’t think he’d believe anyone with a positive opinion of me. He’s probably very happy right now. Not many people in Skyhold have a positive opinion of me.”

“That’s not true,” Lan protested.

“Of course it is. There’s more than enough distrust toward me for Fenris to imagine whatever he wants.” Dorian shrugged. “Well, anyway… it’s not like I expected this to go well. I’m not surprised. Just annoyed.”

Lan winced. “Please don’t say anything to him.”

He hadn’t intended this to mean anything bad -he was just trying to keep the peace, but obviously this was not what Dorian had wanted to hear. The man visibly bristled.

“Of course not. Why would I ever want to defend myself against unprovoked hostility? The Commander already asked me to keep my tongue. I don’t really know what I did to make you two believe I’d behave like an arse if I ever talked to him. Do you think seeing pointy ears awakens my Evil Magister instincts or something? That I need to be reminded not to act like a slave-beating blood mage in his presence?”

Lan’s eyes widened. “What? That’s not- that’s not what this is-- no! He’s just going to be confrontational, and you- you’re going to respond!”

“Oh, well. The Great Inquisitor knows me better than I do.”

“But I… Dorian…” Lan trailed off, lost. He was not prepared for this.

“Kaffas, don’t make that face,” Dorian grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. “People are definitely going to think I abuse elves if you leave looking like that. I won’t seek him out, you have my word. Contrary to apparently popular belief, I am not particularly eager to talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Lan said under his breath.

“Are you hurting?”

“Huh?”

Lan suddenly realized he had brought his arms around himself, hugging his middle, and he was slightly hunched over in a defensive posture. He quickly straightened, ignoring the way the markings on his back groaned in pain.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Really? Why did you knock on my door?” asked Dorian, now suspicious.

“Just- uh… it was nothing. I need to go.”

He escaped, back down the stairs and into Solas’ still empty study. The croaking crows far above his head made a mournful sort of sound ; it echoed in the quiet rotunda and entered Lan’s ears like tiny knives coming to stab his brain. A headache was now developing on top of everything else. Lan quickly ran out, looking for a place to calm his nerves.

Black clouds were promising imminent rain, so the gardens were out of the question. Returning to his room would only make him feel worse. He briefly entertained the idea of seeking out Fenris for tattoo advice... But then, he had absolutely no idea where that elf was. For someone who looked so striking and who carried a giant sword more often than not, he really knew how to disappear. Lan had not seen him even once since Hawke had left. He still heard about him, though, because Fenris might be avoiding him but he clearly didn’t mind other people. Lan hadn’t known about his Dorian investigation but he’d heard servants whisper about the Inquisitor’s handsome, if surly, brother. Vivienne, Bull and Solas had also had somewhat lengthy conversations with him. Longer than any conversation with Lan, in any case.

It seemed to be generally agreed that Fenris and Lan were brothers, and as far as Lan knew Fenris had not tried to deny it. He had apparently swapped his leather armor for more casual clothes that covered most of his tattoos, leaving only his neck and chin, and people assumed it was an odd vallaslin. Nobody had made the link between the Inquisitor’s lookalike and the fabled elf from Kirkwall, not even people who heard his name -or if they did, they were keeping it to themselves, and Lan loved them for it.

Varric was the only person left Lan could talk to about his tattoos. But looking for the dwarf yielded no result, and he eventually remembered Varric had said something about visiting merchants in Ferelden to pick up tools for Bianca.

Mournful, Lan started toward the kitchens, intending to grab an early lunch and ignore his various aches until they gave up on him. He was still munching absentmindedly on an apple when Josephine found him and dragged him to a dance lesson. His instructor was starting to despise him almost as much as Lan despised these lessons. And with good reason -Lan kept stepping on her toes. His body lacked coordination, and today, while the markings had finally calmed down, they had left his muscles sore and unwilling to try.

The lesson dragged on, Lan remained unable to follow a basic rhythm. He left his instructor shaking her head in despair and went back to Josephine to go through the day’s mountain of correspondence and irritating problems. By the time this was over, his headache was on the verge of becoming debilitating and he just wanted to hide somewhere. And then Cole appeared before him.

“Hi, Cole.”

“Hello.”

Lan wasn’t sure why he was never startled when the spirit puffed into existence before him. It was almost like he expected it every time.

“It hurts today,” Cole said. “The rain is never good.”

Lan ran a hand up and down his arm. His markings tingled in response.

“Yeah, well… Wait. I thought you couldn’t read me?”

“I don’t read,” Cole said, tilting his head. “I hear. I can’t hear you. You’re too bright, you’re too loud.”

“Then who are you talking about? Who’s hurting?” Lan asked, suddenly worried. Cole only fetched people who could help ; which meant whoever was hurting was someone Lan knew.

“He feels lonely without the Hawk. They haven’t been apart for so long.”

It took Lan a hot second to decipher that. “Are you talking about Fenris?”

“It’s the rain. He doesn’t like it. It makes him think too much.”

Lan considered that. “Where is he?”

“In the rain.”

“Well… that’s... counter-productive,” Lan said. “Where, exactly?”

On Cole’s instructions he eventually found Fenris sitting on a bench in the gardens -under an arch, not in the rain.

“Hi,” Lan tried.

Fenris looked at him and nodded in greeting. Lan came closer.

“Are you, uh… are you all right?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re watching the rain fall. That’s what people do when they’re sad.”

“Maybe I like rain.”

Well, Lan knew that to be wrong. “So, um. Have you met Cole?”

“Your demon? Yes.”

“He’s a spirit.”

“Same thing,” Fenris said with a shrug.

“Solas must love you,” Lan mumbled to himself. He cleared his throat and said, louder, “He thinks you’re feeling a little under the weather. So to speak.”

Fenris’ jaw tightened. “I have been told he is not possessing anyone.”

“Err, no. I think he… made himself a body?” Lan guessed, trying to remember Solas’ ramblings on the subject. He’d understood that Cole was not inhabiting anyone else’s body, but as for how exactly he came to be, that went over Lan’s head.

“Whatever he is,” Fenris continued, “he keeps bothering me. Tell him to stop reading my mind.”

“It won’t work. He doesn’t do it on purpose.”

“Find a way.” Fenris uncurled his body and stood from the bench. He picked up the sword he’d set beside him and strapped it to his back. He glanced at Lan. “Don’t look so scared. I won’t attack your demon if he keeps his distances.”

“Not a demon.”

“And stop saying that.” Fenris crossed his arms and squinted at Lan. “I heard something about a ball. Am I expected to attend?”

“What? The Winter Palace?” Lan asked, horrified. “No, of course not! That would raise too many eyebrows.”

Fenris visibly relaxed. Lan winced.

“Sorry. I would have told you about it if I’d… seen you.”

“Hawke said I was supposed to protect you,” said Fenris, not quite meeting Lan’s eyes.

“I’ll be fine! We’ve been planning this thing for months.”

“Yes. And I am certain everything will go smoothly and you will not need any help at any time. That _is_ how these things go. Without a hitch.”

“Um... do you want to go to the ball?”

“No.”

“Then it’s fine!”

“Yes!”

“Good!”

Fenris huffed. “I’ll need to see your Commander.”

“He’s probably in his tower, holding an umbrella over his papers. Why?”

“I want to know what the security is like.”

Wait, what? “You want to _infiltrate Halamshiral_? Are you actually insane?”

Fenris merely lifted an eyebrow. “I promised Hawke I would keep an eye on you. I want to know how to get in if I am needed.”

“I think Hawke will understand that you cannot stalk the blighted Winter Palace itself! You haven’t kept an eye on me since you came here, you don’t need to start now.”

Fenris ignored him. Unsurprisingly. “Which is Cullen’s tower?”

Lan gave him the direction and he turned around, but he stopped himself and looked back.

“Have your markings troubled you?”

“No.”

The lie had been immediate, Lan had not even thought about it. Fenris nodded curtly and walked away, leaving Lan standing alone like an idiot in the now deserted gardens. So much for trying to help.

> _Rain falls, heavy and grey. Lan is on his back, tears and raindrops are rolling down his face, and there is a sword through his chest. It’s pinning him to the ground like a butterfly. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t think._
> 
> _He can hear someone crying, screaming at him. They sound angry… they sound heart-broken._
> 
> _“Why would you do this? Are you insane? Vishante kaffas, why?!”_
> 
> _“Out of the way, slave,” says another voice, cold and cutting like an ice shard._
> 
> _A shadow falls over Lan._
> 
> _“Please save him, Master. I will do anything. Anything at all.”_
> 
> _“I already own you, what else could you give me?”_
> 
> _“Anything you want. I will never disobey you. I give you my entire life if you can save him.”_
> 
> _Lan gasps in pain. He has failed. He wanted to kill his brother, and he has failed. All he’s managed to do is push him further into the Master’s claws, all because Lan was too slow, too cowardly._
> 
> _And now, there is a sword through his chest and he’s dying, he knows he is. He has failed. He is dying, he is leaving his brother alone, he has condemned his mother to death._
> 
> _He wants to say he’s sorry but there is no breath left in him. There’s only darkness, slowly swallowing the world around him as he hears his brother continue to beg for Lan’s life to a cruel master who will use him like a puppet._

Lan gasped. His legs gave up under him and he stumbled before falling, landing on all fours as he fought a sudden wave of nausea. A bolt of lightning tore through the sky, soon followed by rolling thunder.

> _Rain falls, heavy and grey. Lan looks up at the sky. He feels empty, there is nothing left in him._
> 
> _He’s lying in someone’s arms. Big arms, hard with muscles. That person is hunched over, awkwardly attempting to shield Lan from the rain. They’re humming a song to themselves. A bolt of lightning shines briefly in the sky, illuminating the metallic caps on their horns._
> 
> _“If you don’t stop singing I will make you eat that elf alive,” snaps a gruff voice ahead._
> 
> _The one holding Lan shuts up, for a few seconds._
> 
> _“I’m trying to calm him down. He’s shivering.”_
> 
> _“It’s cold. Everyone’s fucking shivering.”_
> 
> _“He’s sick, Reth,” says a new voice. “Don’t be an ass.”_
> 
> _“How am I being an ass? Qalaba can’t sing, that elf doesn’t need to go deaf on top of everything else. She should just give him to Imekari if he’s restless, he likes Imekari.”_
> 
> _“He likes me too,” mumbles the one holding Lan, defiantly. Her arms tighten their hold on him, and it’s warm, warmer than anything Lan has felt in a while. He curls up into the hold. “See?” she says, delighted._
> 
> _“I swear you think this is a pet.”_
> 
> _“Reth,” booms a new voice, authoritative and deep, “if you’re unhappy with how Qalaba’s handling the elf, you’re welcome to take him from her and deal with him yourself. Or you can shut the fuck up and let her sing. We still have a ways to go before we reach a village, walk faster before that elf catches a cold and croaks.”_  

Rain fell, heavy and grey. Lan tried to keep breathing. Pain stabbed every inch of his body.

Several long minutes passed before he managed to climb back to his feet. He stumbled and nearly dropped down again. 

He hobbled out of the rain, but the cold followed him. He went to the first door he saw and slipped inside, and found himself cringing under the stone eyes of Andraste looking down at him. 

Candles burned gently on the small altar at her feet. Lan walked over and dropped to his knees before them, just glad for the reassuring, warm glow they cast as he shivered with cold and fright.

He could barely stand one memory a week. And now he’d had two in a few minutes. At least nobody was here to see him fall apart… He glanced up, but Andraste stayed supremely unbothered by his presence.

He closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. Navigating his headache made this difficult. He’d remembered… the Tal Vashoths, he supposed. What had been their names…? Qala-something. She’d held him in her arms, attempting to nurse him back to health. He wondered what state he’d been in when they had found him. He wondered if they had found him or taken him by force. He wondered where they were.

His hand went to his chest and rubbed as it felt the slightly elevated line of skin there. An ugly scar that cleaved him in two. Its presence had never been a mark of healing ; it had only served to remind Lan that he had bled, even if he didn’t remember why or how. Whoever had hurt him had no meant to do it. He could remember the terror in their voice as they pleaded for Lan’s life. Was that the person he’d tried to kill in that other memory? And… was he remembering wrong, or had he thought of them as a brother…?

He rubbed his chest harder, generating warmth to combat the cold. How had he survived such a wound… The answer came to him like a blow to the stomach : blood magic. Some powerful Magister had rebuilt him. Had he _died_ ? Had they brought him back to life? He looked at his hands, trembling with nerves and grey with cold. He was alive _now_ , he was not some sort of undead being, he couldn’t be…

He glanced up again. Andraste still said nothing and Lan let his hands fall down.

“What do you think about undead Inquisitors?” he asked. “Is that against your Maker’s wishes?”

Her blank eyes stared at nothing. Lan suddenly felt irrationally angry at her, at her silence while he suffered at her feet. Electricity left his palms and hit the statue, harmless but still satisfying on some level.

“I really hope you’re not real. You and the rest of the Gods. Because if you are, you have some shit to answer for.”

He got back to his feet and left, trying to ignore the chill her sightless eyes left on the back of his neck.

He had no destination in mind, but still ended up in the library. Dorian was there, and Lan’s mood rose a little bit -and then soared when the man met his eyes and smiled amicably, his earlier anger apparently forgotten.

“Inquisitor… I see you enjoyed an afternoon swim.”

Lan shrugged, his sodden clothes flung droplets of water around. “Things happened.”

“Yes? Did those things involve a fight in the mud?” Dorian asked, frowning at Lan’s dirty knees and hands.

“It’s nothing.” Lan brushed his hands on his already ruined clothes.

“Do you need something? A towel? Or ten?”

“Just… company.”

“You chose well, I am great company,” said Dorian with a nod.

“Better than the ones I’ve had so far this afternoon.”

“Who were they and what punishment do they deserve?”

“Well… there was an angry dance teacher -she’s already punished, I murdered her toes. Then various angry letters, then there was a spectral boy, then an angry elf, and then a stone woman.”

“Your life is truly fascinating, Inquisitor,” said Dorian. “So I take it your dear brother is still being a pain.”

With a deep sigh, Lan sat on the floor next to Dorian’s chair and leaned his head against the armrest.

“I don’t understand him, not even a little bit.”

“He is not a rational being. I wouldn’t try to make sense of him.”

Lan groaned. “Please, don’t.”

“I am simply stating facts,” Dorian said innocently. He brushed some dirt off of Lan’s shoulders, as if that helped. “I saw him again after you visited me this morning, and I am pretty certain he very seriously tried to set me on fire just by glaring hard enough.”

Lan cringed. “Did you say anything to him?”

Dorian didn’t answer for a small moment. “No. I am keeping my word. I left him to plot murder behind my back, if it amuses him, but I do hope you are ready for when he inevitably puts his plans into practice.”

“He won’t do anything. He’s just…”

“Unstable?”

“He’s fine!”

“Yes. He sounds like a dream.”

Lan groaned. “He wants to come to the Winter Palace.”

“Joy of joys.”

“He’ll have to come to a few meetings.”

“How wonderful.”

“You’ll be in the same room.”

“I cannot contain my excitement.”

“Dorian…”

“What, Lan?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Maybe I’ll stop being a child when you stop treating me like one. I’m a big boy, I can go through an uncomfortable meeting without murdering anyone. I can also walk through a room without oozing icky Tevinter-ness all over everyone.”

“It’s not that!” protested Lan. “I don’t think you’ll hurt him! I just think you… um…”

“I know. You think I can’t control my own mouth.”

Lan winced. “I think you can’t control your sarcasm.”

“Oh, the horror. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for you to have to bear with words coming out of my mouth. Any word out of Fenris’ mouth, however, are apparently fine and dandy, no matter how damaging! That’s good to hear.”

Shit. Dorian was getting seriously ticked off again, and again, Lan did not know how to fix this.

“Dorian…”

“If you prefer I could be gagged for the meeting. I’m sure a lot of people will appreciate the image.”

Lan lowered his head. He clambered back to his feet. “Never mind. I’ll leave you be.”

He started to go back to his room, but changed his mind halfway through. He went to the courtyard instead, standing under the torrential rain for a moment without knowing why. He rubbed his chest, felt his heart beat against his palm, dutifully keeping him alive.

Fenris hated him. Dorian was beginning to. Varric wasn’t here. His headache refused to die. His markings tingled ominously, the Anchor was still buzzing. And the memories lingered.

Lan’s hand closed into a fist against his chest. The rain was slowly freezing him, yet moving seemed utterly pointless. Where would he go? There was no place for him in this castle. There was no place for him anywhere else either.

The urge to move bubbled up inside him. A primal sort of energy, like an alarm coming from deep within him as his mind recognized the path his mood was taking and was desperately asking him to do something about it. Make the pain disappear, or distract himself from it, before it overwhelmed him.

But his thoughts were clouded and he could not find the will to focus long enough to find a useful solution. Instead he closed his fists tightly, and focused on the headache, and on the buzzing ache in his markings and in the Anchor, until the pain invaded every inch of his body. Physical pain, strong enough to dull the emotional and easier to deal with.

He saw someone leave the tavern. They held the door open long enough for Sera’s snorting laughter to reach Lan’s ears, as well as Blackwall’s rumbling voice saying something apparently hilarious. Alcohol was sure to be involved. Lan finally moved.

The tavern was painfully warm after the cold rain. Sera was entertaining several people with tales of her exploits in Denerim, including Blackwall and half the Chargers. Lan watched her a moment, admiring her endless cheerfulness. He turned to the bar and eyed the bottles on display. He didn’t know the names of those things, so asked Cabot for one at random and uncorked it.

The smell alone was nearly enough to make him reconsider. This better be worth it, for how awful it was going to be.

“Hey, you.”

Lan glanced sideways at Sera suddenly by his side. “Uh. Hi.”

“What are you drinking?” Sera took the bottle without waiting for an answer and sniffed it. “Woah. That’s… what is that?”

“No idea.”

“Since when do you drink?”

“Since now,” said Lan, mildly irritated to have been stopped in his momentum “Can I have it back?”

Sera shrugged. “Go on, didn’t mean to stop you. Just surprised.”

“Yeah, well, so am I. But here I am. Let’s all deal with it.”

Lan tried to grab the bottle but Sera swiftly swung it out of reach.

“What now?” he whined.

Sera was squinting at him. “Hmm,” she said slowly, coming to some kind of conclusion within herself. “At least do it right. Drinking’s supposed to be fun. Hey, Krem! Blackwall!” she shouted.

They turned around, both of them looking a bit surprised to see Lan here.

“What?”

“Come over here, we’re drinking!”

“We’re already drinking,” said Krem, lifting his glass for proof.

“Yeah but now we’re drinking over here. The Inquisitor’s paying!”

There was a shout to elation, and suddenly Lan was surrounded by a few Chargers and a mostly sober Grey Warden.

“What’s the occasion?” asked Blackwall.

“Err… I’ve had a bad day,” Lan answered. “This is supposed to help, right?”

“This in particular?” asked Blackwall, leaning in to observe the bottle. “I doubt it.”

“Don’t be a pooper,” warned Sera. “I want to see him drink it.”

“You want to see him suffer,” Blackwall translated.

“Yep.” She poured a glass and set it before Lan. “Now, you drink and then tell us all your troubles so I can be entertained by a drunk Inquisitor.”

* * *

Lan awoke with a headache. For a change.

The more surprising side of his current predicament was that he was lying on the floor -and not in his bedroom.

His whole body felt rusty, as if he would creak like a door in need of some oil if he tried to move. He blinked at a passingly familiar ceiling. His view was a little blurred, but he saw a hand enter his field of vision. He watched that same hand go down, and then it slapped him upside the head.

“Aw-fff--” he spluttered, curling on himself miserably while mocking giggles echoed in his ears. “Sera!”

“Morning!” she answered, much too cheerily. “You’re still alive! I was starting to wonder.”

“Wha--?” Lan somehow managed to roll onto his stomach and immediately regretted it. A giant rock seemed to be sitting in said stomach.

He was on the floor of Sera’s room above the tavern. The sky looked menacing, but he could tell it was early morning. He ran a disgustingly fuzzy tongue on his teeth, then licked cracked lips. Sera was on her knees beside him, grinning widely, greatly tickled by Lan’s suffering.

“Sera.”

“Yeah.”

“I hurt.”

A snort. “You’re hungover, Ô Great Herald of Everything. Even Andraste can’t protect your shiny arse from the shitty liquor you drank.”

“Why…” mumbled Lan as he brought a hand up to his forehead. His brain was pulsing in his skull.

“That’s a great question. You kept saying you had a bad day but you went under so quickly nobody could get anything out of you.”

“I what?”

“You passed out. Like, right away. It’s impressive how much you can’t handle alcohol, I’m pretty sure you broke a record. Wanna get up? Everyone left already but Blackwall made you some kind of hungover cure he told me to give you.”

She grabbed a tall glass from her table, filled with brown-ish liquid and held it out to him.

“What’s in it?” Land asked without moving.

“You didn’t care what you drank last night so don’t start now. It’s hangover cure. That’s enough information.” She shook the glass at Lan, spilling a few droplets. “Go on!”

Lan sniffed it. “It’s ginger tea,” he said dubiously before taking a sip of it. It was cold, but soothed his parched throat and settled his stomach.

“Soooo,” drawled Sera, leaning over to poke Lan in the forehead. “What happened to you yesterday?”

“Didn’t I say?”

“You had a bad day. So what? Everyone has bad days. Normal people, they want to drink alone when they’ve had _really_ bad days -but you? Must have been the worst day ever.”

Lan winced. Yesterday it had definitely felt like the worst day ever ; but in the light of a new day and with his markings back to normal and his headache finally, blessedly fading away, his little temper tantrum seemed a lot less important and a lot more ridiculous. Even the memories that had assaulted him had dulled considerably, leaving behind mere little flashes.

“I… might have overreacted,” he admitted shamefully.

Sera squinted at him. “The fun of drinking is to say stupid shit to friends so they can make you feel better. You did none of that. Wanna do it now?”

“What? Tell you stupid shit?”

“If you want. I’m a great listener! … that’s not true, I’m terrible. But I know what troubles you.”

“You do?”

“Your brother, right?”

Lan slumped a little. Sera’s eyes widened in unchecked curiosity.

“I knew it! You two don’t get along! Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a brother?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t come up.”

“Everyone keeps talking about him but I haven’t even seen him! Are you hiding him somewhere?”

“He doesn’t need me to hide. He doesn’t like, uh… people,” Lan said.

“Worse than you? Maker, what are your parents like? Hermits?”

Lan’s hand tightened around the glass. He brought it to his lips and forced himself to swallow, giving him something to do other than answering Sera.

He was an idiot. He could sort of remember the taste of the alcohol and it had been horrible, so why had he even continued… Well. He knew why. His mood had been so low by the time he’d entered the tavern, all that mattered anymore was numbing his feelings.

Ugh. _Feelings_. Lan was starting to hate those. He liked it better when he was just sort of there, in the middle of nowhere with the Lavellans ignoring him. He didn’t have to feel anything in particular back then, didn’t even have to think about his markings. Complete ignorance of everything that could go wrong ; this was the only way to happiness, Lan decided.

The tea helped, though. A few minutes later his headache had disappeared completely. The relief that came with this lifted his mood considerably. Sera was still talking about how impressed she was with his inability to handle alcohol and Lan pouted at her.

“I’ve never drank in my life, Sera.”

“Never? Not even a taste?”

“Hmm. Dorian bought me a thing once, but there was almost no alcohol in it.” Lan’s heart squeezed a little as he mentioned Dorian. “He’s angry at me.”

“Who? Dorian?” asked Sera, perplexed. “Why?”

“I don’t quite know,” Lan admitted.

“No use getting bent out of shape over it then, is there? If you don’t know what you did wrong and he won’t explain himself, that’s his problem. Let him throw his hissy fit.”

Lan must not have looked convinced, because she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Is that why you started drinking? Because Dorian’s acting like a prissy little princess? Maker, you’re a mess.” She jumped to her feet and stretched, largely and noisily. “Come on, let’s do something fun. Might want to take a bath first though, you look like you’re made of mud.”

Something fun, when it rained like this, was taking refuge in the Undercroft where Sera wanted to tinker with her arrows. Dagna was as bubbly as ever, helping them and chatting happily. It was very hard to stay gloomy around the happy dwarf.

Lan had always liked the repetitive motions involved in making stuff. It left his mind empty, and focused his energy into something useful. He should have come here yesterday. He glanced at Sera who was laughing with Dagna, and felt himself smile. He was very lucky to have her. He might have spent the night under the rain if he hadn’t heard her laugh and followed it like a beacon in the dark.

By the time a runner asked him to attend a council meeting, Lan had found a new sense of calm that held strong even as he crossed paths with Dorian, who gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement and nothing else, and Fenris, who grunted something that Lan chose to believe was a greeting.

Varric appeared as well. Lan couldn’t help himself -he hugged him.

“Maker’s ass. I’m going to ask Dagna to make you a lifesize doll of me.”

Lan laughed as he released the dwarf. “Sorry. I missed you.”

“I was gone for a few days! Can’t you function when I’m not around?”

Apparently not, Lan thought. “Who can? This Inquisition would fall apart if you weren’t there, Varric.”

“Good point,” said Varric with a nod.

* * *

To Dorian’s credit, he introduced himself perfectly civilly to Fenris. Fenris didn’t introduce himself, he just raised an eyebrow.

“I know who you are.”

Dorian twitched, but settled into silence as Leliana started the meeting.

Everyone going to Halamshiral was present, which was a lot of people. Cullen went over points everyone already knew so Fenris could be brought up to speed, and Lan’s attention drifted. His eyes went to Dorian, who glanced at him. Lan immediately looked elsewhere.

He still wasn’t sure what had Dorian so worked up. Did he think Lan agreed with Fenris? Or was he really just annoyed that he couldn’t retort? Of course Fenris asking about him behind his back would make him angry, Lan could understand that, but why did he have to get angry _at Lan_? It wasn’t his fault...

Fenris’ eyes kept flicking to Dorian every few minutes. Of course Dorian noticed, and after a while he treated Lan to a very pointed glare. Lan shrugged, because there was nothing else he could do.

Eventually the meeting ended, with a few final words from Lan. He tried to sound hopeful and not worried. He wasn’t sure he managed, but people smiled at him.

They dispersed slowly. Varric stopped Fenris to chat a moment, while Dorian just walked out. With a sigh, Lan was about to follow his example, but one of Leliana’s people all but burst into the room and handed her a letter.

Lan waited, curious. Leliana looked at him with a strange expression on her face and waved him over.

“What is it?”

“We just received a crow. From Wycome. I… I am sorry, Inquisitor.”

She handed him the letter, which Lan took after a second of stillness. He threw his reading lessons out of the window, his eyes only looking for the more important words. He only needed to read three. Then he stopped.

He stared. His hands suddenly felt numb. The rest of him was following in their wake.

He stared some more. The words became blurry.

The letter was taken from his hands, so Lan stared at the floor instead.

“Lan?”

He thought about answering. A finger under his chin tipped his head up. Fenris was blurry.

Images of elves popped up into his head. Some who had been nice to him, some who had ignored him, some who had been downright cruel to him. All dead. Through no fault of their own.

Keeper Isthimaethoriel was dead.

Lan had stopped a Breach in the sky from swallowing the world and he couldn’t save Isthimaethoriel from simple humans.

Fenris was pushing him backward, into a velveted chair. Lan sat. Leliana, her messenger and Varric were talking above Lan’s head, saying “too late” and “conspiracy” and “red lyrium.”

Lan looked up sharply. “Red lyrium?”

“Yes,” answered Leliana. “It seemed the plague the humans were suffering from was red lyrium poisoning. The Duke was with the Venatori.”

Lan stared at her a moment. Something white hot and ugly was rising in his chest. His hands clamped on the armrests, knuckles white under the strain.

 _Corypheus_.

“Pointy.” Varric’s hand clamped over his and Lan startled. “The chair.”

Lan looked down. The chair was smoldering, smoke was rising from the upholstery. Lan quickly removed his hands, leaving blackened marks on the velvet.

“Sorry…” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry…”

“Lan.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Stop this.” Fenris’ voice was hard enough to cut through Lan’s haze. He looked up, met blazing green eyes.

> _He watches, helpless, as she sits there without moving. She only blinks sometimes, her green eyes briefly disappearing. The grief inside him is so painful that he feels like it’s eating his organs one by one, and leaving nothing but emptiness and agony behind._
> 
> _If he weren’t such a coward he would kill her. Offer her mercy_

“Lan!”

He jumped. Fenris had both hands on his shoulders.

“Kaffas, what’s happening to him?”

“He has episodes,” answered Varric, standing right beside Lan. “I told you his markings screwed with him.”

“That’s his markings’ doing?”

“I think so, anyway.”

Lan looked at Varric. “What?”

“You with me?” Lan nodded. Varric patted him on the shoulder. “You went away for a little while. You’re gonna be okay. Let’s just get you to your quarters.”

“I’ll clear your schedule, Inquisitor,” said Leliana. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Fenris took him by the arm and led him out of the war room and to his chambers. On some level, Lan realized this was unusual and should be remarked upon. As it was, he couldn’t bring himself to care, and let Fenris push him up the stairs, Varric following close behind.

He was led to the bed, where he sat, and then… what?

He looked around. Varric and Fenris were talking. Then Varric left, and Fenris fidgeted a moment.

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Fenris eventually.

Lan felt himself shrug. “They didn’t like me,” he said, and was immediately appalled at himself.

They were dead. It didn’t matter if they liked him, they’d liked other people. And those people had watched them be slaughtered, before being slaughtered themselves.

Still he found himself unable to stop talking. “They all thought I was cursed. Most of them didn’t talk to me at all! Even the Keeper thought I was dangerous. She told me she trusted me but she still made me swear not to use my magic if I wasn’t with her. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Sounds… miserable,” said Fenris.

Lan nodded. “It was. It was miserable. And now they’re all dead. And when the humans ran at them with swords they must have thought I decided I wouldn’t protect them. They must have thought I didn’t care and I left them to die.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Did you tell them anything about your time in Tevinter?” asked Fenris.

“I don’t remember it.”

“Not the slightest thing?”

Lan closed his eyes. The memory from earlier was still there.

“I have… flashes. But I never remembered them so it didn’t matter.”

“Remembered?” repeated Fenris.

“I remember some of them now,” admitted Lan. He glanced at Fenris. “Earlier… i just… remember an elven woman with green eyes.”

Fenris said nothing, his gauntleted hands crossed sagely on his lap. Lan took a deep breath.

“D-do you remember an elven woman with green eyes?”

“My sister.”

Lan shook his head. “No. She’s older, and she… she’s not aware. She just stares at nothing all day, doesn’t talk, doesn’t move. And I… I know I can’t bring her back. I think it’s from a blood magic experiment that left her mindless.” He sighed. “It’s not Varania. I don’t know who it is, but in the memory I’m so… I’m so sad. Her eyes are terrifying.”

Fenris was silent for a little while.

“Varric says it’s your markings’ fault.”

“I don’t know. Solas or Dor-- uh… nobody said anything about a memory spell. But then nobody can read anything in those shitty things.” He glowered at his covered arms. “It is a curse. The Lavellans were right. They were right, and now they’re dead.”

Fenris sighed. “Someone once told me the only difference between a curse and a blessing was your outlook on life.”

Lan looked at him. “Is it?”

“No. It is a stupid thing to say. But without those brands I would never have escaped Danarius. It does not make them a blessing, but it makes them… useful. I have decided a long time ago that if I have to live with it, I will make it mine. This is my curse, I will manipulate it to my heart’s desire.”

“But they don’t take over your mind.”

Fenris paused. “No, they do not,” he admitted. “But they protected you still. You said you were smuggled out by mercenaries -why? Why pluck you out of Tevinter and then keep you around?”

Lan blinked. “You think they kept me alive because of these?”

“Possibly. This tale of yours has been bothering me -in my experience Tal Vashoths do not do anything out of the kindness of their heart.”

“But they couldn’t know it was lyrium. The _Keeper_ didn’t know it was lyrium!”

“Didn’t she? You say she took you under her wing.”

“She had a soft spot for me,” said Lan, his heart squeezing painfully.

“Probably. And maybe she also sought to protect you from your curse. Did she tell you why you should not use magic on your own, or did you assume it was because she did not trust you?”

“She told me it wasn’t safe.”

“For the others? Or… for you?”

“I.. I don’t…”

“She kept you close, asked you to keep your magic under control. Kept you calm. Quiet. Hidden.” Fenris paused briefly. “Safe.”

Lan felt his breath hitch in his chest. He brought his legs up on the bed and hugged them to his chest.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“I do not know. Perhaps she feared your reaction,” Fenris mused. “These episodes of yours, like the one you had in the War Room… they happen when you are overwhelmed, don’t they?”

“Sometimes,” Lan said slowly, almost in a whisper. “Fenris… Do you think I escaped Tevinter by using my brands too?”

“It’s possible. If Danarius really was your master…” Fenris trailed off. “But I cannot understand why or how we never met after I went through the ritual.”

Lan’s hands went to his chest, feeling along the line of his scar.

“He managed to keep Varania a secret.”

“True. Perhaps it really is as simple as you being already with the Tal Vashoths at the time, or perhaps Danarius gave you to someone else for reasons I cannot know.”

Lan let a moment pass. “Are we brothers?”

“I don’t know.”

“What would it mean if we were?”

“I don’t know.”

It would mean Lan had once tried to kill Fenris. He hid his face behind his knees and closed his eyes. He didn’t notice he was listing to the side until he bumped into Fenris. He tensed. But Fenris didn’t move.

After a while, the door opened and Lan heard Varric talk, but he was drifting to sleep.

He woke up alone on his bed in the late afternoon, eyes encrusted and body aching from staying curled up tightly for hours. He didn’t move until night fell, and a knock on the door made him start.

Sera shuffled in, looking a little awkward and holding a paper bag.

“So, um… we heard what happened.”

“We?” croaked Lan.

“Yeah… Leliana told us. I mean, us as in the ones you like. She didn’t tell all of Skyhold or anything.” Sera stopped and sort of waved the bag in the air. “I got you cookies. Good ones, yeah, not the ones I gave you before. I was careful.”

Lan sat up. He was not hungry in the slightest but he couldn’t find it in himself to refuse Sera’s baked goods, so he took the cookie she held out to him.

He bit into it cautiously. She looked at him expectantly.

“Good?” He nodded, and she beamed. “Knew it! I’m an expert baker! That’s my thing now. Arrows and cookies. I can teach you if you want.”

Lan swallowed his mouthful. “Arrows, or cookies?”

She snorted. “You wouldn’t be able to shoot a single arrow. You’ll find a way to shoot yourself right in the arse.”

“Yeah…”

“It’s your fault I learned cookies anyway. You ate the stupid ones I gave you before and didn’t even tell me they were stupid. I know they were, you know… But now’s not the time for stupid. I just thought you’d like a bit of comfort food.”

She sat by his side on the bed and took a cookie for herself. She munched quietly for a moment, before asking, mouth full,

“So you’re all right? I mean I know you’re not all right but… you all right?”

Lan shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah. Eat the cookies.”

He did. It gave him something to do.

Once the bag was finished Sera crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the fireplace. She hesitated, then put her arm around his shoulders.

“Varric says you like hugs,” she explained. Grateful for the contact, Lan turned into it instinctively. Sera shifted a little and cleared her throat. “I’ve lost a lot of friends, I know it’s not easy. But there’s people behind your door who’re worried about you and want to make sure you’re all fine. So, you’re not alone, yeah? You have us. All of us. Even Lord Fancy Breeches.”

“Lord… who?”

“Dorian,” she clarified.

Lan couldn’t help the twitch of his lips at the nickname. “He wanted to come?”

“Yeah. But he’s being all weird about it. I can go grab him if you want.”

Yes.

“No. Thank you Sera. I’ll be fine.”

“You know you don’t have to. You can be sad all you want.”

“I don’t know if I’m sad.”

She shrugged. “That’s fine too. You can be confused all you want.”

“I’m always confused.”

“Yeah… well keep at it. You can feel your things, is all I’m trying to say. Don’t have to put up a ‘I’m fine’ face when it’s with me, yeah? Or with everyone else here.”

He felt a smile on his lips.

“Thanks, Sera.”

She let him curl into her side, desperately seeking more comfort. Silent, she stayed, and held him without asking questions.

“You know,” she said eventually, “there’s Jennies in the Free Marches. I sent a crow, after I heard. Asked them to look around, see if there’s survivors. I don’t know what they’ll find, I don’t want to give you false hope or anything but… they’ll take a look, anyway.”

Lan let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Sera scooted on the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position and squeezing Lan against herself. She obviously had no intention to leave any time soon.

“Sera…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Don’t think so.”

Lan took a deep breath. “I don’t know what having siblings should feel like.”

“I don’t know either, so, there. Nobody knows.”

“I think it should feel like you.”

Sera stilled and went silent. Lan couldn’t find the strength in himself to move, so he just waited.

“What? Me? A sibling?”

Lan just nodded. Sera made an odd noise.

“You’re touched. I’m not anyone’s sister.”

“Sorry.”

“Shitballs you’re weird!” she cried out, but Lan felt her arm around his shoulder tighten. “... I’m the big sister, right?”

The block of ice in Lan’s chest thawed a little. “Are you older than me?”

“Dunno, but I’m bigger than you, so I win. I’m also the one baking stuff. That’s what big sisters do… right?”

“No idea.”

“S’fine. I don’t know either.” She patted him awkwardly on the back. “You can be my brother. That’s fine. I think it’s fine...”

* * *

 Lan woke up with a hand on his face.

He carefully picked it up and put it back on the mattress, and the Sera attached to it snorted in her sleep. She was sprawled across the bed, taking more than half the space available while Lan had slept curled up by the edge.

It was dark outside, though daylight was starting to show over the mountain peak. A few stars still remained, twinkling gently. Lan opened the windows and slipped onto the balcony. It was freezing. He let the wind bite his exposed skin, wash away the numbness that infused his body.

He looked up to the stars and searched the sky. At this time of year, Tenebrium would be shining. He found it, being slowly eaten by the rising day.

“O Falon’din, Lethanavir, friend to the dead...”

“Whatcha mumbling?” grumbled Sera’s voice behind him. “Why you keeping the doors open? I’m freezing my tits off!”

Lan turned around, intending to close the window, but she stepped onto the balcony with a scowl on her face.

“You’re crazy, out this early in the cold.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“You mumbled in Elfy.”

Lan shrugged. “It’s a prayer for the dead. I don’t know much, but I know this one.”

“You’re not Dalish.”

It was a statement more than a question, and Sera’s face told him that she’d figured that out a long time ago and had been dying to ask about it. The fact that she hadn’t made Lan want to hug her.

“No. They just sheltered me for a few years. I’m… an escaped slave. From Tevinter.”

Sera was silent for a moment. “Crap.”

“The Lavellans didn’t like me, but they still kept me. They knew I wouldn’t survive alone.” Lan looked back at Tenebrium, now halfway gone. He had to ask Dorian how to pronounce it, he thought, before remembering Dorian was angry with him.

Sera sniffled ungracefully and turned around. “Well finish your thing and come back in before you end up an icicle! That’s an order from your big sister!”

Lan smiled. “... Ghila is'var shosaan, hamina is'var nas,” he whispered to the sky, “ghila eshala is'var sal'shiral’dina.”

And he ran back in, closing the windows behind him.

* * *

 Sera left, but only after asking him about five times in a row if he was going to be all right. Lan assured her he would. He looked at the door as it closed behind her.

He should go back to work. The Inquisition did not care about the Lavellans. Their murder was not going to be anything more than a footnote in history books. There were so many things to organise still, before the Winter Palace ; so many people still alive whose survival rested on the Inquisition’s ability to move on from this.

He sat on the top step, arms crossed on his knees. He really should get out, but if he stayed right here, right on this step, and stopped moving entirely, he could trick himself into believing the rest of the world didn’t mattered. If he didn’t have to talk, to move, to _exist_ , then he could pretend.

He nearly screamed when a knock on the door brought the world back to him. He contemplated what to do about it, whether he could continue pretending and ignore whoever it was on the other side.

Another knock. “Lan?”

Lan stilled. Dorian’s voice. Dorian was on the other side.

“I know you’re here. I understand if you don’t want to see me. I simply wanted to tell you, if you need anything… ah, a lot of people probably already told you this exact same sentence.” A sigh. “I just wanted to see if you were… all right. I am very sorry, Lan. For everything.”

Footsteps. Dorian was leaving.

Lan jumped down the stairs and crashed into the door. He wrenched it open, heart beating in his chest. Dorian froze where he was, taken aback by the sudden explosion of activity. His grey eyes blinked.

“Lan? You look-- are you… Maker’s breath. Are you all right?”

“I-” started Lan, and then realized he didn’t know what to do now. He’d just wanted to see Dorian. “Can you come in? Just for a moment?” Dorian hesitated, and Lan felt the world pressing on him. “Please?”

“All right.”

Lan grabbed his wrist and led him up the stairs. He stopped at the top step and sat. Dorian looked down at him, puzzled, but Lan tugged on his wrist, inviting him down. So Dorian sat just next to him.

Lan breathed deeply, closing his eyes. The silence enveloped the both of them. Dorian’s thigh was touching Lan’s, and he could hear his breaths and smell the fine leather of his clothes and whatever products he put his hair.

“Lan?”

Lan opened his eyes. He glanced to his side, met grey eyes under eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“I’m fine.”

He expected the man to tell him he wasn’t, that he didn’t need to be stoic, but Dorian didn’t do any of that. He just nodded, taking Lan’s statement as it was.

“I just need a moment,” Lan admitted slowly.

“I understand.”

Lan pressed himself just a little bit more against Dorian. “How do you call the shadow constellation in Tevene?”

“Tenebrium,” said Dorian, putting accents where Lan wouldn’t have known.

Lan smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome...”

“Did you know elves think it’s supposed to represent Falon’din?”

“Who is…?”

“God of death. He guides souls to the Beyond.”

“Awfully nice of him,” said Dorian.

Lan laughed softly. “Yeah, he must be. I don’t believe but… I hope I’m wrong. I hope Falon’Din was there to guide them all.”

“I’m sure their souls are well looked after, Inquisitor,” said Dorian gently. “They will find their peace.”

Lan nodded slowly. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Sorry for kidnapping you. You can go.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Dorian as he stood. “Do you need me to say something to your advisors? I’ll happily tell them to stick their meetings up their--”

“I’ll be down soon,” cut in Lan. “If they ask, tell them I won’t make them wait.”

“As you wish.” Dorian paused, looking at him with his head tilted to the side, and Lan smiled.

“I’ll be fine. I promise. They’re not the first to die because of Corypheus…” Lan’s hands tightened into fists. “I’ll destroy him if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I hope it won’t be,” said Dorian. “But you can count on my help, even if it comes with occasional tantrums.”

Dorian put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little, and Lan had to stop himself from grabbing his arm and forcing that hand to stay there. He didn’t, and Dorian released his hold, and went down the small flight of stairs and disappeared behind the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so, that happened. I know it's been said a hundred times, but really, the fact that the game does not acknowledge it at all when you get the Lavellans killed is very weird. 
> 
> I translated Lan's prayer into Elven myself, the original version, which is in a codex you can find int he Exalted Plains, is this : 
> 
> O Falon'Din  
> Lethanavir—Friend to the Dead  
> Guide my feet, calm my soul,  
> Lead me to my rest
> 
> I just thought it made more sense that the Dalish would say it in elven. I cobbled a translation together thanks to Project Elven here on AO3.
> 
> Next chapter, we'll finally get to the Winter Palace, with surprise guest Fenris probably hiding in the bushes.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marvellous business, the Winter Palace...

Cullen looked sick again, like he was a day away from a full-blown stomach flu.

This was all Lan could think about. His attention was taken by the purple bruises under the man’s eyes and the grey tint of his skin, while the words coming out of the Commander’s mouth waltzed around his ears without finding purchase.

The two of them were alone in the War Room. Lan had come here looking for the letter from Keeper Istimaethoriel, realizing much too late that he did not have it with him and he hadn’t even read it from start to finish. He didn’t know what he was going to do with it, he just… wanted to have it.

It wasn’t there, but before Lan could leave the room and look elsewhere, Cullen had entered and started talking. As commander of the soldiers who had failed to foil the Duke’s plans on time, he had decided to take the blame for how things had ended in Wycome, even though Lan hadn’t said anything about it. Lan hadn’t opened his mouth since he’d left his quarters, as a matter of fact.

People had offered him their condolences. Lan had no idea how to answer. ‘Thank you’ sounded weird. ‘I’m fine’ sounded disingenuous. ‘Don’t worry’ sounded careless. And now Cullen had been explaining himself and apologizing for ten minutes straight and Lan still had to say a word.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, cutting off Cullen mid-sentence. “Oh, sorry,” he said quickly as the Commander looked taken aback by this sudden interruption. “Sorry, that was rude. I just- you look a little bit sick.”

Cullen’s mouth hung open for a second, before he managed to find his composure again.

“I am fine, Inquisitor."

“Okay,” Lan said, unconvinced. “Commander… I don’t blame you. I hope you know that.” Cullen didn’t answer. “If I have anyone to blame, it’s Corypheus and the Venatori. The Lavellans aren’t the first we lost to them and they won’t be the last. Please, _please_ don’t make yourself sick with guilt. I know we don’t always seen eye to eye, but... I believe that you’d never knowingly do anything to hurt the Inquisition. I just-... I don’t think the culpability is yours. I know it won’t stop you from feeling guilty, but I don’t blame you, and I still trust your decisions.”

It took a second for Cullen to digest this, apparently, but the Commander nodded, even if it looked stiff.

“I will not let you down, Inquisitor.”

“I know.” Lan glanced at the sky through a window. It was still pretty early in the afternoon. “Can you call a meeting?” he asked. “I just want to make sure everyone knows all there is to know about the politics of the Winter Palace.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“And-... do you know where the letter is?”

“I believe Leliana has kept it safe. I will talk to her.”

“Thank you.”

Cullen left swiftly. Lan sat and waited. His eyes swept over the map stretched on the table, red pins for the templars, black for the Venatori, and green for new rifts.

The day he had accepted to become Inquisitor, he had promised to do his best to protect everyone. He hadn’t kept that promise.

He had started to see his duties as a chore, avoiding Josephine whenever possible and mocking all the fine work this war required. Perhaps he would have seen through the Duke’s treachery if he’d paid closer attention to what was happening and less time wandering aimlessly through the castle and lying on the floor of Dorian’s room. He should have been more careful. Reacted like a leader instead of a naive little elf. Asked Leliana to investigate what was going on before sending troops. He’d reacted without thinking. 

The door opened and Lan looked up to see members of the Inquisition appear -his people. He had no past, no clan. All he had left, or maybe all he’d ever had in the first place, was Skyhold. He didn’t just want to keep the world safe out of a sense of duty or diffuse empathy. He wanted to keep his _friends_ safe, so fiercely that it hurt. 

He almost laughed -trust him to only start connecting with people in the middle of a bloody war that threatened to take them all from him.

* * *

The morning before they left for Halamshiral, Lan was ambushed by Mother Gisele with a rather odd request. He debated whether to tell Dorian about it while they were riding for Orlais, but he didn’t find the right time for it, nor the courage it required. Dorian and Fenris were forced to travel in close quarters, and while they were very careful to avoid even looking at each other neither of them was happy. Lan would rather avoid Dorian and his horrible mood.

Halamshiral was nauseatingly opulent, Lan’s outfit was uncomfortable and scratchy, the Duke made Lan nervous, and the Inquisition attracted dirty looks the moment they walked through the gates. So far, everything was exactly as he’d expected it.

They walked into the ballroom and Lan felt nervous energy rise within him. There were too many people -influential people. Even the ridiculous masks weren’t enough to distract him. This wasn’t the same as talking to a couple of nobles in a controlled environment. Here, he was expected to mingle, and a wrong step somewhere could have disastrous consequences. He was on their turf. And not a single bit of him belonged.

“Chin up, darling.” Vivienne brushed by his side as the Inquisition paused, waiting to be announced to the court. Lan turned to her, but she was not looking at him. She held her head up, her eyes sweeping the ballroom as if she owned the place. “Eyes straight ahead,” she instructed. “Everything here is pretend. Play their game and the evening will be yours.”

Lan squinted at her. “I’m a heretical elf. I can’t pretend to be anything else.”

“You are being ridiculous,” Vivienne said. She was talking so quietly, and yet somehow her voice was perfectly clear to Lan. “Nobody here is who they say they are. They are barely what they dress up as. But you, my dear, are the Inquisitor ; and everything you have done so far is public knowledge. You do not have to pretend to be someone you are not, simply to admit to what you already are.”

“And now presenting...” started the man in charge of announcing the guests. “--Grand Duke Gaspard De Chalons--”

Vivienne finally looked at Lan. “You have this advantage over every single person here : you have nothing to lie about. So keep your chin up.”

Lan obeyed.

“--and accompanying him--”

“Eyes straight,” Vivienne ordered. Lan looked right ahead. “Show them what a heretical elf can do.”

“--Lord Inquisitor Lavellan.”

Vivienne nudged him, the slightest push forward. “Walk with purpose,” she whispered.

Down the stairs Lan went, and all the eyes in the ballroom turned toward him. He stopped as he saw the Empress, and followed protocol by bowing to her. He took that time to briefly close his eyes and take a deep breath. Right, chin up, eyes straight, purpose in his steps…. He opened his eyes again and continued his walk.

Forcing so much confidence into his demeanor felt very weird when he was so anxious inside. But as his accomplishments were listed for everyone to hear (“ _vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden_ ”? Really?), the nobles’ masks quivered. They whispered to each other, watching him strut, and by the time Lan reached the other end he had to stop himself from smirking. They were being forced to listen as an elf was officially announced as a Lord and as Champion of Andraste. Lan did not agree with these titles, but more importantly, the Orlesian nobility did not agree with these titles, and that was a very satisfying feeling.

He bowed again before the Empress. By now the other members of the Inquisition were being introduced and the focus shifted away from him. Lan allowed his posture to relax a little and tried to meet Vivienne’s eyes across the room. He gave her a small nod. She responded in kind.

Good. He hadn’t completely screwed the evening up. Not yet, anyway.

* * *

About an hour later, Lan’s feet hurt and he was itching with frustration. He’d forced himself to talk to various people but so far all he knew was that the servants were unhappy, Celene was aware that her life was in danger and did not want to make anyone’s job any easier, her ladies in waiting were freaky, Leliana hated the empress’ occult advisors (whom Lan couldn’t find anywhere even as he looked for her), and pretty much everyone in this entire Palace was disgusting enough that it would not come as a surprise if it turned out they were all Corypheus’ minions.

A young elven servant offered him wine. Lan took it, mostly because he wanted to have something to do with his hands. He thanked the servant but she glared at him as she walked away.

Lan needed to move before someone saw him stand still and thought he was up for a chat. He was tired of small talk and thinly veiled barbs. He reached the gardens, looking for some fresh air. There, Dorian was leaning against a bust of someone or other, and Lan gravitated toward him on instinct.

“This is all so familiar,” chirped Dorian as Lan approached. “I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.”

Lan tilted his head, trying to picture the scene. A tall, faceless woman tugging along a pouting young child with a shock of dark hair, sullen grey eyes, and… still a moustache. Lan let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” asked Dorian.

“I don’t think I can imagine you without facial hair. My mind won’t let me.”

“Good,” said Dorian, running his fingers along his moustache. “That is the point.”

Lan felt a little lighter. Dorian was in a better mood, at least. 

“Does this look like a Tevinter party?” 

“Mmmh, almost. The same double-dealings, elegant poisons, canapés… it’s lacking a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic.”

Lan blinked. “Lovely.”

“Ah,” said Dorian, eyes widening as he only just realized what he’d just said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Are you exaggerating?”

Dorian winced. “It depends whose party it is, I suppose.”

Lan noted that Dorian did not mention whether or not he’d ever attended one of those parties, and fear of the answer deterred him from asking.

“I’m starting to think I have a very different definition of ‘parties’ as everyone else,” he said quietly.

A slight silence passed. Dorian pointed at Lan’s still-full wine glass.

“You’re drinking?”

“No,” said Lan, gladly taking the bait to change the subject. “I’m trying to blend in. Is it working?”

“Let me see… a white-haired elf dressed in bright red, marked by Andraste, and talking to a Tevinter mage, holding an oversized glass of wine like it’s dirty underwear… Yes, you are utterly unremarkable.”

“Oh, good. I was worried for a minute.” Lan looked around. “So many people, and so far I still have to talk to a single person who takes me seriously or even cares about anyone but themselves.”

“What did you expect? They were raised here.”

Lan looked back at Dorian. “Yeah. They were,” he said, quietly.

His eyes swept the gardens, observing the masked nobles, the fountain, the trees, the roses--

Lan stopped, and blinked up at the balcony, above the rose trellis behind Dorian. He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then looked at Dorian, who was slightly concerned.

“Are you all right?”

“Dorian… please keep calm.”

“What?”

Lan pointed and mouthed, “Fenris is behind you.”

Dorian whirled around so fast that he almost hit himself in the face with the bust of Duke Whoever. Fenris was crouched on the balcony above the fountain, half hidden in the shadows, and looking down at the both of them with his eyes shining in the dim light. He caught Lan’s gaze and gestured for him to come up.

Lan mouthed “How?” and Fenris pointedly looked down at the rose trellis that followed the wall up to the balcony. Lan shook his head. Fenris raised his eyebrows, then looked at the trellis again. Lan shook his head harder.

Fenris mouthed “important” and then did a whole series of gestures that Lan had no idea how to interpret. What was going on up there…? Fenris then pointed insistently at the trellis, but Lan still wasn’t moving.

“Oh for-- give me that.” Dorian took the glass of wine from Lan’s hands, then walked swiftly to the other end of the garden, where he made quite a show of tripping and stumbling into a noble with a booming voice, showering him in wine.

The man immediately started shouting and every head in the garden turned toward the commotion. Lan jumped up the trellis.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered while Dorian was engaging in a verbal joust.

“There are elven spies in this castle. Did you know that?”

“How do _you_ know that?”

“I am not the only one hiding. I heard them whisper about a package in one of these rooms.”

“Which?”

Fenris pointed. “There’s no package, but there is a dead body.”

“Oh. Oh well. That’s great.” The evening was just getting better and better.

“There also seems to be some unrest in the servants’ quarters. I’ll keep looking,” Fenris said. “You should go get your Commander and join me there.”

“Why Cullen?”

“I met your demon thing in the library--”

“Cole.”

“--he says your Commander is in some distress. I don’t think he should be. Get back down before your Magister runs out of things to say to these idiots.”

Lan could not imagine Dorian ever running out of things to say, but he slid back down anyway, taking care not to rip his itchy clothes. He looked back up but Fenris had already disappeared. Lan would have given an arm to be able to do that.

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and walked with as much purpose as possible out of the gardens. Dorian saw him and winked at him, which made Lan chuckle and give him a thumbs up before hurrying inside the palace.

First, find out what was up with Cullen. That was easy ; a veritable fanclub had appeared around the poor Commander, who threw Lan a desperate glance as soon as he saw him. Lan offered him some kind of shrug, unsure how to get him out of this, but then one of the nobles got handsy and Lan suddenly felt a lot bolder. He barrelled through the small crowd, his anxiety replaced by the sure need to get Cullen out of this.

A voice at the back of his head, which sounded a lot like Josephine, asked him to remain polite.

“Excuse us, everyone.” He grabbed Cullen by the elbow. “I need my Commander.”

There was a chorus of disappointed sighs, but Lan just pushed Cullen away without looking back.

“What do you need me for?” asked Cullen once they were in a quieter corner.

But Lan wasn’t done fuming. “I hate this place.”

“I’m not a fan either. Thank you for intervening, I was running out of ways to politely ask them to leave me alone.”

“Who in their right mind would like this place?” Lan hissed.

“Madame de Fer is enjoying herself,” Cullen said, motioning with his chin toward Vivienne who was entertaining a small crowd. Not a single person there was going to risk even looking at her wrong, never mind trying to cup a feel.

Lan turned away, disgusted, and tried to remember the next item on his to-do list. He brought Cullen up to speed, and they made their way to the servants’ quarters. The door, unfortunately, was locked.

“We should get Varric,” Lan said.

But the door suddenly opened before them. Fenris stood on the other side, key held between his fingers.

“No need,” he said, and stepped aside to let them in.

“What are you doing here?” Lan asked, throwing panicked glances around. There was nobody here for now, but anyone could walk by at any time.

“Waiting for you,” Fenris said as he closed the door behind them and locked it again. “I thought it best not to continue alone.”

“Hello!” greeted Cole, appearing by Fenris’ side.

“Hi, Cole,” Lan answered as Cullen startled. “How did you get that key?”

Fenris tilted his head. “Have you met the Empress’ occult advisor?”

“Err… no.”

“I have. She gave it to me.” Fenris paused. “She is highly suspect.”

“Nobody seems to like her.”

“She’s a witch,” Fenris said. “She knows a lot more than she should, perhaps a lot more than we do. I could not get her to tell me much, except that I was right to want to take a look at the servants' quarters.”

“But what if it's a trap?”

“I do not believe she’s the one trying to kill the Empress. I still do not trust her in any way, but it is her best interest to keep Celene alive.”

“So why is she suspect?”

“She is a witch and talks like she owns the place.” Fenris’ nose wrinkled in disgust. “She is too smug to be innocent.”

“Inquisitor…?” called Cullen’s voice from the next room.

Lan joined him. He stopped, stomach rolling as he saw his Commander standing over the body of a dead elven servant. One of three, laying on the floor in pools of their own blood.

“Well, shit,” Lan whispered, suppressing a shiver.

* * *

By the end of the night and after much sneaking around the Winter Palace with Cullen, Fenris and Cole, Duchess Florianne was arrested, Celene was saved, Briala exiled and Gaspard sentenced to death. What that meant exactly for the future of Orlais Lan didn’t know. All he knew was that he was tired to his bones, and he wanted to escape this horrible place as soon as possible.

His head buzzed, his throat burned from talking so much, his mind hurt from holding so many different threads at once and deciphering every word to avoid getting tangled into the Game, and his nerves were rubbed raw from the stress and from having seen so many dead bodies in such little time. So many dead elves. He had to find Sera. Perhaps she could find out if the poor murdered servants had families… the Inquisition could send them money… Maker knew nobody else was going to help them.

Following the Duchess’ rather public arrest, everyone was suddenly interested in talking to Lan. It was a wonder he had not fallen to his knees and screamed in frustration in the middle of the ballroom. He found a pocket of blessed silence on one of the balconies -or so he thought, until Morrigan came to talk to him. He tried very hard not to cringe in front of her. When she finally left, Dorian appeared. The happiness he felt at this sight was muffled by exhaustion.

“Who were you talking to?”

“My new occult advisor,” said Lan.

“I didn’t know you had an occult advisor.”

“She sort of invited herself.”

“You do know you can say ‘no’...”

Lan shrugged. He was too tired to think.

Dorian came next to him. “I didn’t see you at all after that little stunt in the roses. You disappeared for several hours, reappeared just long enough to point fingers at the Duchess, and then vanished once more without a word! I had to hear what happened from Cullen.”

“Uh-huh...”

Dorian looked at him. “So you ran into danger with Fenris by your side.”

“More or less...”

“Hmm.” Dorian rested his chin on a hand. “It is a little discomfiting to learn you’ve been fighting your way through Halamshiral only after the fact.”

Lan braced himself against the balcony railing. He hadn’t meant to hide anything from Dorian, but there hadn’t been any time to chat in-between trying to unmask the Duchess and avoiding Venatori while trying to keep it all secret.

Dorian was quite pointedly not looking at him and Lan felt a weight settle over him, crushing him even more. Dorian wasn’t done being angry, then.

“I’m sorry,” Lan whispered.

“No. I understand.”

“I just don’t think-- I mean Fenris and you- I mean it’s not…”

“Don’t start swallowing your own tongue,” said Dorian. “I said I understood.” His fingers tapped on the railing.

“I… I just… there was a lot going on and I couldn’t… I couldn’t deal with you two arguing on top of everything else. I didn’t mean to keep you out of it but you would have made it worse.”

Dorian bristled. “So you’ve said before. I’m still very sorry for defending myself against accusations of inflicting various horrors on elves and having ulterior motives.”

“He hasn’t actually accused you of anything,” Lan mumbled half-heartedly. “He’s just cautious.”

“Don’t play coy. He’s insinuating more than enough to undermine my already tenuous reputation within the Inquisition. Do you honestly see nothing wrong with what he’s doing?”

There was genuine hurt behind the bite in Dorian’s voice. Lan immediately felt an entirely unwelcome wave of guilt swallow him.

“That’s not what I meant! Of course I don’t agree with what he’s doing! But you like poking the bear and… I wanted you there but… he’s stopped being so standoff-ish with me recently and I didn’t want to risk putting him in a bad mood on top of everything else--”

He could clearly see in Dorian’s eyes that he was not saying anything to help himself. Lan stuttered some more, aware of the fact that he was becoming entirely incoherent. Eventually he just snapped his mouth shut and stayed silent for a few frantic breaths.

“Screw it.” Lan felt himself snap. His legs suddenly refused to support his weight and he dropped down. Dorian let out a slight noise of alarm, one hand shooting out to grab Lan.

“Are you all right?”

“No!” Lan snapped. “I’m not all right!”

He pulled himself out of his grasp and let his body slump, ass on the cold hard stone floor and back against the railing. He brought his knees to his chest, closed his hands into fists and pushed them against his eyes until he saw stars.

“Tonight was horrible. About ten people were ready to kidnap Cullen, I have no idea what anyone looks like here, I had to talk to them all night while they insulted me behind my back, even other elves think I’m an enemy, rifts opened and Anchor and markings both hurt, Fenris got hurt, Morrigan… I don’t even know, and then everyone looked at me to decide who to put on the throne.” Lan tore his hands from his face and threw his arms in the air. “I have no idea what I’m doing! I’m supposed to stop Corypheus, why the shit is everyone asking me to do those things? It has nothing to do with me! If Corypheus weren’t there these cretins in there would still be plotting murder and calling it a game. They started a civil war that killed _hundreds_! Did you know Celene exterminated elves in the alienage just to prove a fucking point? And I put her on the throne just because -because I couldn’t bring myself to let her die! It’s not because I think she’s the best, they’re all awful people! I just didn’t want to have her blood on my hands. I’m not Orlesian. I’m not anything. Why am I…” Lan trailed off. His chest heaved, breathing for the first time since he’d started his tirade. “Why am I here…”

Dorian kept quiet. Lan rubbed his face tiredly.

“I didn’t want to keep you out of it. But I’m so sorry, I don’t think I could have handled you and Fenris bickering on top of everything else, and… and I’m sorry, but he _has_ been nice to me for a change, and I just wanted to enjoy it a little bit… and I just couldn’t…”

Lan let his sentence hang unfinished and hid behind his hands once more. He didn’t have enough air in his lungs to say everything he “couldn’t”.

“How is Fenris?” Dorian asked after a long silence.

“Don’t pretend like you care,” said Lan, voice muffled into his hands.

“I might not appreciate his company, but I don’t wish him harm. Is he all right?”

Lan looked up sheepishly. “Yes. A Shade caught him, but we had elfroot.”

“Good.” Dorian seemed to hesitate a second, before crouching down to Lan’s level. “I’m being an arse. I don’t mean to add to your already sizeable headache.”

“It’s fine.”

“Obviously not…  If I promise to be less of a pain with Fenris, will you forgive me?”

“I don’t want him to say all those things about you either. I don’t know what to do.”

“And keeping us separated was probably a wise choice, until we figure it out.” Dorian smiled a little. “Lan… all you did was think about your own comfort first. I know it’s a new idea for you -and obviously it’s also a new idea for me... but my ego will recover, I promise.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“When are you not... “ Dorian paused. “I heard you kicked a Venatori assassin out of a window.”

“They were about to kill a servant and the window was just behind them…”

“I am genuinely sorry I missed that. I’m sure it looked very heroic.”

“Cullen said it lacked subtlety.”

“That is rich coming from a man who wears half a bear on his shoulders every day.”

“I was tired of seeing dead elves.”

Dorian fell silent once more. Lan closed his eyes and leaned against the railing behind him, bumping the back of his head against it. He might fall asleep right there...

Dorian touched his shoulder. “One thing I did notice : you didn’t get to dance at all. Such a pity, after all the effort you went through…”

“That is the one point tonight that went right for me,” said Lan, opening a single eye to look at the Tevinter crouched before him. “I would have stepped on every foot available. I’m hopeless.”

Dorian’s smile turned mischievous. He stood, then bowed down, offering a hand to Lan. “I can help you.”

“I’ll step on _your_ feet!”

“Lucky for you, I’m wearing very solid shoes. Come on now, let me make it up to you. I’ll be gentle.”

Lan took the hand, suddenly feeling very warm. Dorian pulled him in and his ears went bright red instantaneously.

They twirled around the balcony, to the rhythm of some imagined music. Lan followed Dorian’s slow and steady lead. His fear of stumbling faded away, his heartbeat settled, aligning itself to the quiet thumping he could feel in Dorian’s chest.

A cosy feeling of simplicity settled over him. Dorian knew how to dance perfectly, and Lan felt very small against his chest. He could feel echoes of panic and anxiety knocking at his mind, but he was too comfortable. His thoughts quietened and the metal vice that had been squeezing his chest for months relaxed its hold. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his every muscle uncoil as he exhaled slowly.

Dorian pulled him a little closer. It made Lan’s heart skip a beat, but it also pushed against his breast pocket and he felt the shape of a letter. Reality fell back on him like a ton of brick.

Mumbling an apology, he reluctantly stopped the dance and reached into his pocket as Dorian lifted an eyebrow at him.

“What is this?”

“Mother Giselle gave it to me this morning. It concerns you.”

Puzzled, Dorian took the letter and opened it. Lan waited while he read. His heart dropped as he saw Dorian’s eyes lose their shine and turn to stone.

“‘I know my son’?” Dorian hissed. “What my father knows about me couldn’t fill a thimble! The gall…”

“What? What is it?” asked Lan in panic.

For all answer Dorian thrust the letter in Lan’s face, who scrambled to grab it. His eyes scanned the words quickly.

“Your father wants to meet?”

Dorian turned thunderous eyes toward Lan. “This is so typical! This retainer will be nothing more than a henchman hired to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter!”

“He would do that?” asked Lan, confused. It was no secret that Dorian was not on good terms with his family, but he still didn’t understand what that meant, exactly.

Dorian grunted. “Probably not. But I wouldn’t put it past him.” He held out a hand and Lan gave him the letter back, which he read one more time as if he hoped to discover some hidden motive between two lines. “I’ll go to Redcliffe, see what this supposed family retainer has to say for himself. I can’t believe-...!”

Lan hesitated as Dorian started pacing in front of him, agitated like Lan had never seen him. Dorian angry was normally cold and biting, like he had been when talking about Fenris. This restlessness, as if he needed to channel his anger lest it overwhelmed him, was nothing good.

Lan didn’t know much about having a father, but he knew what living with people who hated you felt like -it felt like a lot of things, but above all it felt unsafe, and extremely lonely.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked after a minute of Dorian pacing furiously, ruminating dark thoughts.

Dorian stopped and looked at him. “That would… be preferable.” He sighed. “You have the worst timing, my friend,” he said a little more calmly. “We were having a perfectly nice moment.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lan quickly. “I had no idea…”

“No, you wouldn’t have. I should maybe have warned you that my father would do something stupid sooner or later.”

Dorian leaned on the railing, his gaze wandering the night-covered gardens underneath. Lan joined him. Fenris was somewhere in these gardens, possibly watching them from a bush, but he thought it preferable not to mention it.

“I won’t let anyone kidnap you.”

Dorian chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear. If they do try, we’ll just kill everyone and run away. We’re good at that, right?”

“Of course. I’ll protect you.”

“You, personally?”

“I just... want you safe. Even if it’s from your father.”

Dorian’s eyes went to Lan’s. The sudden stress drew lines around his eyes, his brow pinched in worry, his lips thinned in uncertainty. He looked as if his nerves had been flayed by this letter and Lan forgot to breathe for a moment, afraid a single word out of place might just break the man.

“You say those things…” started Dorian. A soft smile graced his lips and erased the lines on his face. “Thank you.”

Lan simply nodded, as all his words had fled him. His heart constricted at the idea of Dorian in such turmoil. He did the only thing he could think of to alleviate his friend’s pain, and took Dorian’s hand in his.

Dorian let him.

* * *

They had a day to kill in Val Royeaux before going back to Skyhold. Lan spent it wandering the streets under the warm sun, watching idly as various members of the Inquisition used their gold on goods a little more exciting than weapons and bad Fereldan alcohol -the only things Skyhold could reliably offer day in and day out.

Lan himself didn’t need anything, but the merchants did not seem to understand that. The last time he’d been here, people wouldn’t even look at him. Now it seemed nothing would give them more pleasure than to have him peruse their goods. Varric chuckled when Lan reported this to him.

“Put one Empress on a throne and suddenly everyone wants to be your friend! How odd.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Hey, they’ll probably give you a discount if you ask nicely.”

Lan had no desire to ask anything of anyone. He caught sight of Dorian, who clearly had no such qualms and was having a hushed argument with one merchant under the arches. Lan approached out of curiosity, but the merchant saw him and immediately straightened up and plastered a smarmy smile on his face.

“Inquisitor!”

Dorian threw him an odd look. “What are you doing?”

“Huh… walking.”

The merchant’s smile widened. “Your Worship, your presence honors me. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement--”

Dorian lifted a hand to stop him. “No.”

“What?” asked Lan. “What arrangement?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you. This man is being a pain.”

“It is business, my Lord,” said the vendor. “ _Mutually beneficial_ business.”

“Just shut it,” growled Dorian.

“Anything I can do?” asked Lan.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Both answers came at the same time. Lan blinked at the both of them, waiting for an explanation, or a demonstration, or something.

Dorian just grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away.

“I await your return!” shouted the vendor from behind them.

Dorian gritted his teeth.

“What’s that about?” asked Lan.

“Nothing important,” assured Dorian, despite looking irate. “I made a mistake and I’m paying for it. Don’t worry about it, I’ll find a way.”

“But what is it?”

Dorian sighed. “It’s… when I came South, I didn’t have much in the way of coin. I sold some items of mine to this man, and now I would like them -one of them, in particular, back. But he doesn’t want money. He is a titleless opportunistic little weasel.” Dorian stopped and turned to Lan. “I’ll get it myself, don’t worry about it. I’ll find a way.”

“Okay,” said Lan. “But if I can help…”

“No, I’ll be all right. Come, let’s go somewhere where people don’t oggle you like you’re a juicy piece of very influential meat.”

Lan happily followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, maybe not marvellous for everyone.
> 
> Poor Lan tries so hard... and then his anxiety comes and ruin almost everything, and THEN Orlesians come and ruin the rest! Thankfully things are going a little bit better with Dorian now, let's see if it lasts.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Lan have a little heart to heart in Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I am still here, still working on this fic despite appearances.

For an Inquisitor look-alike with a giant sword and an unusual set of clothes, Fenris was too good at disappearing.

Lan had been running from one end of Skyhold to the other all morning, asking everyone if they’d seen his ‘brother’. Bull was the one to finally lend a helping hand, and Lan found Fenris in the gardens, crouched on the one bench hidden in shadows, watching a few tranquils tend to the plants.

As if sensing his presence, he spoke without looking at Lan. “Last time I saw that many tranquils, they were in Kirkwall’s Gallows and being treated like dogs.” 

Lan shivered at the thought. “We’re trying to keep them safe.”

“And putting them to work?”

"They want to work. I think it makes them uncomfortable to have nothing to do... or as uncomfortable as a tranquil can get. They get paid like everyone else," Lan added for good measure. He fished a letter out of his pocket. “We just received a crow from Haw--”

Fenris had snatched the letter out of his hand so quickly that Lan hadn’t seen him move. His face was blank as he read.

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning… Dorian is going to come with us.”

Fenris didn’t flinch. “What are you expecting me to say to that? If he stays away from me-…”

“He will,” promised Lan. “He’s… he’ll respect you.”

Fenris snorted derisively. He folded the letter. “I will be ready tomorrow morning, Inquisitor.”

He walked off, letter in hand.

* * *

 As it turned out, it wasn’t Dorian that Fenris should have been worried about.

“I met twins once, they swore they could feel each other’s pain. It was pretty friggin’ weird.”

“For the last time, we are not twins.”

The trip to Crestwood had turned into a game of twenty questions led by Sera and suffered by Fenris. Lan had eventually tuned them out, relegating Sera’s questions and Fenris’ annoyed answers to background noise once he’d run out of lies to tell. Fenris, for his part, had yet to tell a single lie, but he was skillfully deflecting all the questions or just electing not to answer at all. Which, unsurprisingly, was not doing anything to stop Sera.

“I can see _that_. I’m just talking.”

“Yes. You have done little else since we left Skyhold.”

Rain fell. The wind was whipping it into their faces. Lan suspected Sera was being especially chatty today to keep her mind off the miserable weather and her soaked shoes.

Dorian was walking a little bit ahead, opening the way as he had studied the map the night before. Lan followed mechanically, idly wondering if his hair hadn’t grown too much as he kept pushing white strands away from his face. To think that barely a year ago he actually prefered hiding behind a curtain of hair… right now it was simply inconvenient.

Fenris accelerated and came to walk by Lan’s side.

“You have very little control over your people.”

“Nobody controls me,” Sera retorted as she jogged to keep up. “Can I see your sword?”

“No.”

“Oh, big warrior man, show me your sword!” Sera sing-songed.

Fenris sighed deeply, but Lan was pretty sure he caught an amused twitch of his lips.

Momentarily distracted, Lan did not see Dorian stop in his tracks and walked right into him. The weight difference meant Lan bounced backward and into Fenris.

“What are you doing?” Lan asked, but Dorian’s attention was elsewhere

They’d just reached the edge of a tall cliff. Below them was a large lake battered by the wind and the rain -and the Fade. It looked like a rift had open into the water itself, making the water boil with a sickly green glow. The sky directly above was darker, giving the disturbing impression that the Rift was sucking colors from the world.

“Wow,” said Sera under her breath.

“That’s a big one,” said Dorian.

“That means lots of demons,” grumbled Sera.

Lan’s left hand closed reflexively. He felt Dorian’s eyes on him.

True to his word, Dorian had been nothing but polite to Fenris ever since they’d left Skyhold. Fenris ignored him completely unless it was absolutely necessary that they communicate, but Dorian had not remarked upon it or done anything about it. It was a cold sort of peace, but it was peace, and Lan had been pretty happy with it. He’d almost thought, for a brief moment, that this trip would be one of the easiest. They went, met with Hawke, learned what they had to learn, and would be back at Skyhold within a week…

He sighed, bringing his hand to his chest. “Let’s go,” he said, suddenly incredibly weary.

The rest of the walk to the village was quiet. 

* * *

The rift must have been the biggest one since the Breach itself.

Sensing the new presence, demons spilled out of it the moment the Inquisition walked into the cold and dark chamber. The underground dwarven ruins they had been navigating for hours had been illuminated, but this particular room felt like its essence had been sucked out of it and replaced by an uncomfortable pressure that Lan was able to identify as a “Veil-y” feeling. The Anchor was furious, the lyrium under his skin vibrated.

Everyone scattered to deal with the demons. Lan formed a barrier around himself and took a couple of steps back to disappear in the darkness, and once he was sure nobody had seen him he rushed to the rift. The pain intensified as he stood under it. Conscious that the Anger demon currently cornering Dorian and Sera was bigger than it had any right to be, he wasted no time, lifted his arm and called on whatever power it was that made the Veil and the Fade obey him.

By now, he was used to the feeling. But a bigger rift meant a bigger challenge. Lan only realized he had underestimated it one second before everything exploded.

His vision flashed white. His senses shut down and his body went limp, numb, useless.

Then everything came back at once, and he found himself sitting on the damp floor, clutching his left hand to himself, and the rift still alive and ravenous above his head. The anger demon was there too ; Lan’s vision came back just as it backhanded Dorian with enough force to send him crashing into the wall. He’d had a barrier up but Lan saw the purple sheen of it flicker and disappear just as he hit the stone, and he fell down into a heap. The demon turned its full attention to Sera, who cowered backward clutching a dagger, her bow on the ground and out of reach.

Lan’s first instinct was to throw ice, but the strain from the rift's backlash had turned his magic into dark molasses. It rose sluggishly, spluttered to nothing before it could leave his body. The demon swiped at Sera. She threw herself out of the way and landed between two pillars, cornering herself. The next attack was coming.

From the shadows, blue light flickered. Fenris leapt at the demon, detaching himself from the darkness, his body alight as the lyrium in his skin shone brightly. He seemed to fly across the room, much father and much higher than should have been possible, and plunged his oversized blade into the demon’s back.

He wrenched it out immediately, jumping away and turning in mid-air like a cat so he could land on his feet. The demon wailed and turned around. Sera sprung to her feet and threw her dagger at it, then rolled away and picked her bow up in the same movement. The demon roared ; Fenris deflected its attack with one of his metallic gauntlets. His other hand swung his sword into the demon’s side and cut deep into it. The lyrium made his body look like a weapon, dangerous from head to toes, the lines of his tattoos coiling around his muscles. The low song of pure, untainted lyrium reached Lan’s ears.

“Fenris, back!” shouted Dorian’s voice, and Fenris listened without thinking about it.

Lan felt a great wave of magic rush past him. It hit the wounded demon, and ice formed out of nothing and enveloped it in a matter of seconds, freezing it in place. The rift shrunk with a wail, like it had been hurt by the hit. Lan raised his left hand and let his energy pour into it. It closed almost immediately, docile.

There was a moment of silence. Then Fenris straightened, examined his gauntlet briefly to make sure the demon hadn’t scratched it too badly, and sheathed his sword. He turned around and met Lan’s eyes for a moment. The light from his markings dimmed, then turned off entirely. And just like that, he was not a weapon anymore.

“Everyone alive?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Dorian, who was painfully getting back to his feet.

“I hate demons,” said Sera from behind Lan.

Lan startled and, somehow, finally, managed to get to his feet. His body was still resonating with pain but at least it was back under control. Dorian, grumbling about his ruined clothes, looked slightly unsteady on his feet, and Sera had a busted cheek and a split lip. Fenris, on the other hand, was entirely intact. He walked over to Sera, asking if she needed a healing potion. Lan hurried to Dorian’s side.

“I’m fine,” Dorian said, dismissing his concern with a wave of his hand. “Just had the wind knocked out of me.”

“Are you sure?” Lan’s hands were hovering anxiously, wanting but not daring to touch and feel for injuries.

“Just give me a moment.”

After a conservative swallow of healing potion, Sera’s face was mostly healed. She was prodding at her cheek with a finger, wincing every time. Fenris left her to tend to herself, and started examining the air where the rift had been, as if he was expecting to see traces of it still hanging there. Lan’s eyes flicked from him to Dorian massaging his temples.

Fenris had only started fighting when Sera had been in danger. He’d only used his lyrium, his amazing force, to help her. While Lan had been useless on the ground, watching Dorian get hurt, unable to help in any way.

“Hate this shite place,” Sera said. “Let’s leave already!”

Lan pinched his lips and nodded. Now was not the time to let go of his emotions. They needed to get back to the surface.

It felt like hours passed before they saw the sun again. The rain had stopped while they were underground. The lake was glittering like diamonds under the sunshine. Lan made sure he was walking behind Dorian, keeping an eye on him just in case he turned out to be in worse shape than he said. Every time he caught a glimpse of Fenris, anger flared inside him. He kept quiet.

Under the unexpected sunshine, they found the time to explore the beach further, as well as the remnants of what appeared to be Old Crestwood. The ‘veil-y’ feeling came back, so Lan was not surprised to see several spirits floating around, even if there was no rift and no demon in sight. Dorian was fascinated, Sera was reluctant, Fenris was guarded. Lan followed them aimlessly. All these spirits made the useless lyrium under his skin tickle and itch. He could feel his patience ebb away with each new step.

They found the mayor’s house, and entered it out of curiosity but walked out of it puzzled, holding incriminating evidence, a letter explaining how the mayor had ordered the village to be flooded, killing people he suspected of being infected by the darkspawn before they even turned.

Sera was ranting as they hurried across the dead beach, back to New Crestwood to confront the man with his crimes. Once there, however, the villagers informed them that the mayor had fled and left behind a letter explaining himself.

Lan’s eyes went over the words without really seeing them as his companions talked around him.

“We have to track him down!” said Sera vehemently.

“And then?” asked Fenris. “Ask him to revive these people?”

Sera squinted at him. “You read what I read, right. There weren’t just blighted people in there. He drowned healthy people too. He murdered them in cold blood!”

“Not really,” Lan said. “He’s clearly haunted by his decision.”

“Good! I hope he is. There were children there! He drowned children and their mothers without giving them a chance.”

Lan shivered at the thought. Fenedhis, he was so tired...

“I… can ask Leliana to look for him.”

“It’ll be too late!” Sera protested. “We could look for him now!”

“How? We can’t cover enough ground by ourselves.”

Sera grumbled, which annoyed Lan. It wasn’t like he was going to forget about the mayor. They were on a mission, they were all tired, and Leliana could find the man easily. Pushing his capture back a few days wasn’t like endorsing his actions, for the Maker’s sake…

“If there is nothing more to do,” said Fenris, “we should depart.”

Lan slowly turned his gaze to him. Fenris was looking at him with expectation.

“I’m… tired.”

Fenris frowned slightly. “Hawke is waiting for us,” he said, as if Lan had forgotten.

“She can wait a few hours more. I’m wet and I hurt everywhere. I want to sleep.”

“It is mid afternoon.”

“No kidding!” snapped Lan. “I thought it was midnight! Thanks for the heads up!”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him as Sera made a low whistling noise.

“I think he really does need a nap.”

“Oh shut it, Sera,” Lan grumbled, and he stomped out to look for someone of authority in this village.

Crestwood did not have an inn, but the Inquisition was graciously given the mayor’s house to spend the night in. Lan spent the rest of the afternoon with the villagers, trying to assess how much help they would need from the Inquisition over the next few months. Fenris followed him, even though Lan had not asked for it. Tall, dark and broody elf tailing him like he couldn’t even trust Lan enough to walk down the street without falling apart.

It went on for a while, until Lan couldn’t keep it in anymore. He whirled around without warning, stopping Fenris dead in his tracks.

“Why did you wait to kill that demon?”

There was a beat before Fenris answered. “What?”

“You were nowhere in sight when Dorian got hit. You only acted when Sera was in danger. Where were you?”

Fenris’ face remained blank even as he took a few seconds to think about his answer, which annoyed Lan even more.

“I did not purposefully leave the Tevinter to die, if that's what you are implying.”

“Then what were you doing? If you were hoping I was too out of it to notice, too bad -I saw how you only jumped in the fight when Sera was cornered!”

“I was busy with something else,” Fenris said.

“With what? It was the last demon standing!” Lan’s voice was rising. “Dorian put a barrier around you. He helped you. And you didn’t even lift a finger to help him.”

“Your Tevinter was not the one and only variable in this fight,” Fenris hissed.

“No, just the one you chose to ignore!”

“Venhedis… Believe what you want, Inquisitor. There is obviously no point in me defending myself if you have already made your mind.”

“You’re not defending yourself, you’re just being vague. Tell me a good excuse, then! Or I’m going to believe what I saw!”

Fenris sneered. “The world does not stop at what you can see,” he said, then turned around and walked away.

Still fuming, Lan stomped in the opposite direction with no aim in mind but getting away from Fenris, and from everyone else. He found a spot behind a house overlooking the cliffs and sat there on a rock, watching the lake glitter under the sun. His tattoos were still hurting, tingling with remnants of the veil-y feeling. Uncomfortable. The pain he’d experienced with that big rift was weighing on his body.

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon. Lan’s stomach growled. He had to stop himself from scratching compulsively at his skin several times.

Little by little, his anger faded, taken away by the relative silence and peace that surrounded him as he watched the stars light up one by one above his head and he traced imaginary lines between them. His body slowly got heavier. He scratched at his markings again, and again had to stop himself. And a terrible thought started to worm its way into his mind.

The rifts affected him a lot because of the Anchor… but would they still affect him a little bit without the Anchor? Did the lyrium in his skin react regardless of the Anchor’s influence? If so, then… then Fenris’ markings probably reacted too. His were complete, after all, and covered him entirely. His whole body was a magical pathway. Rifts were concentrated, explosive magic. It had to affect him in some way… Fenris had activated his lyrium before jumping in the fight, but if it had been hard to control because of the rift...

Shame crept through Lan’s veins like cold water. He buried his face in his hands. The wind picked up and he shivered. The pain and discomfort had almost entirely disappeared, leaving only a weariness and a fatigue that contributed to his shame the same way they had contributed to his anger earlier.

“Inquisitor!”

Lan looked up. Dorian was calling for him.

“Laaan!”

\--and so was Sera.

Crap, how long had he been hiding? He pushed to his feet and rejoined the main road. Dorian spotted him immediately.

“There you are!” he exclaimed. “You disappeared!”

“Just-um… clearing my head,” Lan said. “Sorry.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Dorian asked, concern in his eyes.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Lan said. “That rift was just hard. I wasn’t prepared. It made me feel weird.”

“Well, we’ve got dinner ready,” Sera said, slinging an arm around his shoulder -though she kept her touch very light and Lan was grateful for it. “Come eat something, it’ll make you feel better!”

“Yeah. Thanks. How’s your face?”

She grimaced and poked at her cheekbone. “I lost a tooth.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t hurt much but it’s weird. I can poke my tongue through it. Wanna see?”

“Nope,” said Lan, quickly ducking under her arm to escape her. He joined Dorian instead. “And you? Are you okay?”

“IWell, all my teeth are accounted for, as are the rest of my bones.”

“It’s just- you hit that wall hard.”

“I won’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve had much worse, I assure you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“Ah, I was waiting for that apology,” Dorian said with a sigh. “That rift did a number on you, didn’t it? There’s no need to feel guilty about being in too much pain to help the distressed maiden that I apparently am in your eyes. What you do need is a warm meal and a full night’s sleep.”

Lan lowered his eyes, watching his feet as they slowly made their way toward the mayor’s house.

Fenris was inside. He didn’t speak a word. Sera offered him some dinner, but he declined with a shake of his head. Everyone went to bed silently, weary and hurting in various ways. They wanted to leave the bed to Lan, but considering Dorian’s back had hit rock mere hours before, he insisted the man take it instead. Lan settled for a bedroll on the floor next to Sera.

Exhausted as he was, he still couldn’t find sleep. Guilt kept him wide awake, staring at the ceiling long after Sera started snoring. So he heard the door open and then close right in the middle of the night.

He sat up and looked around. Fenris had left. He got to his feet, carefully stepped over Sera and tip-toed to the door. Opening it quietly, he spotted the elf just casually walking down the slope and toward the path leading to the beach. Lan hurried after him.

“Fenris?”

The elf didn’t even twitch. “Why are you not asleep?” he asked, an edge of annoyance in his voice.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I have little need for sleep.”

“Well… so do I,” said Lan.

They fell silent. Lan followed Fenris, now certain they were going to the beach.

“I’m sorry,” Lan blurted out when the tension inside him finally exploded. Fenris didn’t say anything. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know you didn’t put anyone in danger intentionally. I was stupid, I was worried about Dorian and I didn’t think further.”

Still, Fenris stayed silent. He slowed down a little, his eyes flicked toward Lan briefly.

“I, um…” Lan started. “The rifts hurt. I mean, my markings. They make the lyrium react.” More silence. Lan gulped nervously. “Is it-... it’s the same for you, isn’t it? It hurt you? That’s why you were late. You were dealing with that.”

Fenris stopped. Lan did as well. The wind was much too cold for comfort, attacking the spots on his clothes that were still humid. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“I am used to the pain that comes with the markings,” Fenris said. “But the rift disrupted my ability to control them.”

“So you couldn’t turn them on?”

“For a little while. I eventually managed, that is when I attacked.” He gave a slight pause. “I was ‘late’ because it was very… distracting.”

Lan nodded. “How does it feel when- when you light up?”

“Like power,” Fenris answered. “Like I am stronger, faster, lighter. The pain amplifies, but it is a downside I am accustomed to. I have seen many rifts since the Breach appeared, but I suppose this one was bigger and had a stronger hold on the world. The lyrium was misbehaving, I could barely control my own body.” He planted his eyes into Lan’s. “Is this what happens to you, too?”

“I guess so,” said Lan. “It certainly feels like I can’t control my body sometimes.”

“Then we have an understanding.”

Lan almost laughed. So far, he’d only connected with Fenris when talking about pain, slavery and sadness. He wasn’t sure what that mean for their relationship.

“I’m very sorry about earlier. I may also have been a litte, um… jealous.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“I wanted to help. I could barely hold myself on all fours, I felt… I _feel…_ pathetic, sometimes. Well, often. And then you jump in all powered and save the day while I’m writhing like a worm and unable to help anyone... It just didn’t help my mood. But that’s my fault, not yours, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Fenris seemed to mull this over. “You need to find yourself a shell,” he said.

“What?”

“When your nerves are unprotected, every little thing can feel like an attack. I know that feeling very well.”

“But… it’s not every little thing. Most of the time I’m more despondent than anything, ask Sera... Sometimes it just… it slips out.”

“Is it truly despondency?” Fenris asked. “Or do you block your feelings on a regular basis, so that when one does slip out you do not know what to do with it?”

Lan blinked. “What?”

“I might have some experience in that domain,” Fenris said, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just tried to dig into Lan’s psyche. “It will not help you in the long run.”

Lan opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then he tilted his head, a slight frown on his face.Varric had told him something similar once. Well, he’d told him that if he kept his feelings bottled up for too long, Lan would end up blowing up a Chantry. And to say that back then, Lan had thought it was merely a metaphor…

“I’ll work on that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes. I gathered.”

The wind made Lan shiver. He was still exhausted, and that must have shown on his face.

“Go back to the house, Inquisitor.”

“Where are you going, though?”

“Taking a walk. I do not like being cooped up for too long. I’m not used to it anymore.”

“Right. Okay. Oh, one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Can you call me Lan? It makes me feel very weird when you call me Inquisitor.”

Fenris squinted a little. “I don’t think so,” he said, then continued on his way, leaving Lan behind.

Lan pouted. He made one of Sera’s favorite rude gestures at Fenris’ back before returning to the mayor’s house and, hopefully now that his mind had settled and his anxiety decreased, to sleep. He wondered if Fenris had found his ‘shell’.

* * *

 The moment they saw Hawke waiting for them at the mouth of a cavern, Fenris detached himself from the group and ran at her. He enveloped her into an embrace. Lan read both worry and relief in how tight Fenris was holding on, enough to feel guilty about pushing this meeting back.

“I told you I’d be fine,” Hawke said with a little smile. “Hello, Inquisitor.”

“Hawke. How are you?”

“Currently being crushed to death. The Warden is just inside.”

The Grey Warden was waiting for them with a hand on his sword. His eyes did the same thing as everyone who had seen Lan and Fenris at the same time had ever done.

“I know,” sighed Lan.

The Warden smiled good naturedly. “Hawke did warn me.” He took his hand off his sword and offered it to Lan. “I’m Alistair. It’s an honor to meet all of you. I wish it was some place nicer.”

“The Alistair?” asked Dorian. “The one who defeated the Archdemon with the Hero of Ferelden?”

“What?” asked Lan

Every eye in the cave turned to him at once. Sera burst out laughing.

“What? What’s happening?”

“You don’t know about the Hero of Ferelden?” asked Dorian.

“Of course I know about her! I’m not sure about…” He looked at Alistair. “Um. I’m fuzzy on the details.”

Alistair started laughing. “It’s all right, really. I was starting to think I should change my name, but if there are still people who don’t know about me it must be fine.”

Lan winced. “I’m sorry. You helped the Hero?”

Sera laughed even harder as Dorian shook his head and muttered something about needing to see to Lan’s education.

“Nobody cares about all that anymore,” said Alistair, waving Lan’s question away. “I answer to Warden Commander Clarel now, everyone does. The Grey Wardens aren’t more willing to listen to me than they are to a tower of screeching nugs, no matter how much I might have sacrificed in the past.”

“Tell them,” pushed Hawke.

Alistair did. Lan learned of the Calling, of Corypheus’ apparent ability to control it. Dread curdled in his stomach.

“That’s… that’s terrifying,” he said. “Are you hearing the Calling right now?”

“Unfortunately,” answered Alistair, “yes. When I’m talking or fighting I can almost ignore it, but when it’s quiet again… I can hear it. It’s like a song you can’t get out of your head.”

Lan clenched his marked hand reflexively. “I know how maddening that can be. Thank you for resisting it.”

Alistair looked genuinely surprised. “There’s no need to thank me. Someone has to do something.” He started pacing. “The Wardens think they are all dying at the same time. They’re terrified of what will happen next Blight without a single one of them left to stop it. Warden Commander Clarel proposed some drastic things -blood magic and such- to prevent further Blights before we die. I protested, maybe a little too loudly, and, well. Here I am.”

“How can blood magic stop a Blight?” asked Sera, looking pointedly at Dorian.

“I don’t know,” admitted Dorian. “They might have found a way, but the cost they would have to pay… It’s madness!”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” grumbled Alistair.

He showed them a map, gave them some papers he’d gathered during his research. Wardens seemed to be gathering in the Western Approach.

As everyone went through the papers and Sera started annoying Fenris again, Lan approached Alistair.

“I’m really sorry. I meant no disrespect.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m really not important enough to be offended that one person doesn’t know my name. If anything, it’s refreshing.” He looked at Lan a little more closely. “You said… you said you knew what the Calling felt like?”

“No. Not the Calling. You, erm… know about Fenris’ markings?”

“Lyrium.”

“I have the same. The Anchor seems to make some kind of echo chamber whenever I’m close to lyrium…”

“Ah,” said Alistair, quite simply. “The lyrium’s song can be intoxicating.”

“You hear it too?”

“I trained to be a templar a long time ago. I was recruited to the Wardens before I could get my first dose of lyrium, but I’ve seen the effect it has on the older templars.”

Lan frowned at him. “What effects?”

“It varies, but templars don’t reach old age with their mind intact. I met many who went on and on about the Song, said lyrium called to them. They get addicted to the stuff, it eats their thoughts, and in the end it kills them. Mages have a certain immunity to it, but templars… they can’t escape it.”

Lan attempted to swallow the lump that had just formed in his throat. “How… how would it start, when a templar deteriorates?”

“I’m not an expert,” said Alistair. “It must start pretty innocently, the problem is rarely caught early enough to do anything about it. I- wouldn’t know if this lyrium marking will affect you the same way.” His eyes flicked to Fenris. “Does he hear it too?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked much.”

“I feel like you’ve led an interesting life, Inquisitor.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” He heard Fenris finally snap and Sera giggle. “Huh, excuse me while I… yeah.” He ran to Sera and Fenris. “What are you doing?”

“Just makin’ conversation!” said Sera.

“She keeps asking if every part of me glows.”

“Just curious!”

Lan tried to put a hand over her mouth but she ducked and ran off.

“Fenris, can I talk to you?”

“What do you want?” asked Fenris, stepping away from everyone else.

“You say you can feel the rifts… Can you hear the lyrium sing?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Only abominations and templars claim to hear it clearly.”

“If I’m either of those, I’d be the first one surprised,” said Lan with a frown. “I think it’s the markings -don’t you hear anything like that?”

Fenris shook his head. “Once again, your Anchor might have more to do with that.”

“Maybe.” Lan sighed heavily. “What I wouldn’t give to have an actual answer to something, once in my entire life.”

Fenris scoffed. “That will never happen. Does that song disturb you?”

“The red lyrium’s song does. It feels… I don’t know, angry. Like it wants to hurt, take over, and-” Lan stopped and shivered as he remembered his time in the other Redcliffe, his time in the Emprise du Lion. “It’s unpleasant.”

“Do I sing to you?” asked Fenris, tilting his head.

“You did, back in the cave when you activated your markings. Right now, though--” Lan stopped himself before he could say ‘no’ as he suddenly realized this was not true. “Oh. Uh, yeah, you still do. It’s very, very faint though.”

“Interesting,” said Fenris, and then he left it at that.

After some convincing by Hawke, Alistair agreed to come to Skyhold and leave for the Western Approach with the rest of the Inquisition. Lan found himself liking the man. He was funny and easy to talk to, and seemed pretty sure that he had done nothing to deserve fame. So much so that Lan eventually forgot to ask about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how about that DA4 teaser, huh???


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of uncomfortable encounters with people from Tevinter.

Lan almost hit his head on one of the wood beams when Dorian’s voice rang through Cullen’s office.

“Inquisitor?”

He scrambled to the ladder and looked down. Dorian’s perplexed expression looked up at him.

“How did you know I was here?” asked Lan.

“A Chantry sister is looking for you, something about your presence being requested for a sermon?”

“Oh.” Lan grimaced. “Yeah. Later. They just want me to stand around looking Herlady while Mother Giselle says her stuff, I can be a little bit late. That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here, though.”

“Well, it seems that when people lose you, I am their first stop. I did see you go toward the battlements about an hour ago with a conspiratorial look on your face and decided to come fetch you and satisfy my curiosity at the same time. Why exactly are you hiding in Cullen’s bedroom while he’s away?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m… busy.”

“With?” prompted Dorian. “Why are you making that face? Is it something naughty?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s disappointing. Tell me anyway.”

Lan was about to tell him to leave, when a thought struck him.

“You can levitate things, right?”

“Things…. Can I levitate things.” Dorian made a show of thinking for a few seconds. “Mineral? Vegetal? Animal? I’m certainly not the one to ask if you want five cows to fly over Minrathous.”

“Would you have enough control to levitate something very long and very heavy?”

Dorian’s eyebrows went up. “All right, you have my full attention. What, exactly, do you need to levitate?”

“Wood beams.”

“Oh, is that all?”

He stepped away as Lan dropped down the ladder and went to the door opposite the one Dorian had used. Opening it revealed a pile of packed hay, thick rope, and two heavy wood beams.

“His roof has a hole in it.”

“And you want to repair it?” asked Dorian, stupefied. “You are aware we have workers, don’t you?”

“They’re busy, and Cullen refuses to ask for their help until they’ve restored everything else in the castle but that’s taking forever. I only want to do a temporary fix until I can pull someone to do it properly.”

“You are the Inquisitor. Just pull someone off their work right now and tell them to do his roof for a day.”

“I’m not sure he’d appreciate the gesture. Look, I wanted to just do it myself, quietly, but, well...”

Dorian looked back at the pile. “Where did you get all of this?”

“Half this castle is lying on the floor, you can find whatever you want if you’re looking for it. I started with hay only, I thought it would be enough for a temporary fix. In and out in five minutes, and his papers aren’t soaked through with snow anymore. But then I saw those two wood beams above his bed up there, and they’re rotting from the inside. So I thought…”

“You thought you would haul new beams up a ladder by yourself?”

“I was thinking Iron Bull, actually.”

“Ah, that makes more sense. Do you want me to fetch him?”

“Not really...” Lan stopped, and frowned. “Did you say someone made cows fly or did I dream this?”

“What a wonderful dream. How did you get those beams here in the first place?”

“Magic,” said Lan, wiggling his fingers theatrically. “But I don’t have nearly enough control to get them up the ladder without breaking everything… Why were cows flying over Minrathous?”

“It was the season. Very heavy precipitations. Do you even know how to repair a roof?”

“More or less. It’s a temporary thing, I don’t want him to freak out. Seriously, who made cows fly?”

“I have no idea, and neither do the city guards. To this day the perpetrator still has to be found. I want to believe the beasts learned by themselves. Why would your Commander panic over a roof?”

“Because it’s Cullen and he’s like that. Look, I’ve already started, I can’t just leave in the middle of it and wait for him to be crushed by his own roof in his sleep because he’s too stubborn to ask for help! Are you helping or do I have to alert half the Inquisition until I find someone and defeat the whole purpose of doing it quietly by myself?”

Dorian clicked his tongue and considered the scenery. “Oh I’ll help. I want to be part of this, even if I’m not sure what this is supposed to be. Tell me, what is the next step, and how does it involve me? I have absolutely no manual skills, I’m warning you.”

Lan rolled his eyes. “I just need the beams up that ladder. You have artistic licence as to how.”

Dorian gave a resigned sigh. He rolled up his unique sleeve. “Let’s see how good I am at levitating.”

The two of them managed to carry the beams in. Lan jumped up the ladder and helped Dorian stand one up vertically, then waited anxiously as Dorian analyzed the situation for a moment.

“Step away,” he warned. “And maybe help a little.”

Somehow, miraculously, they managed to get the beam up the ladder without hitting anything. Lan mixed his own spell with Dorian’s. He let the Tevinter steer and control, but he added some power and a slight buffer around the beam to make sure it wouldn’t bang on anything. The last thing they needed was to make another hole.

“We are a fantastic team,” said Dorian appreciatively as he climbed up the ladder.

Lan went to work. With the bed pushed away, he hacked at the rotting beams until they fell off. With more magical help from Dorian he managed to position the replacement beam, and secured it into dips he’d carved earlier, then with strong rope. They repeated the routine for the second beam, then Lan only had to finish plugging the holes with the packed hay. Dorian helped throw the debris out and push the bed back into place.

Lan looked at the finished product, hands on his hips. “That’s a roof.”

“That is one name for it,” said Dorian. “Might not hold long.”

“As long as cows don’t start raining, it will hold longer than what was there before.”

“Never say never.” Dorian looked at him with a smile. “I knew you were handy, but not that your skills included roof-making.”

Lan shrugged. “The Dalish make everything themselves. I picked up a few skills from watching them.”

“That was quite impressive, Inquisitor. Now, maybe it’s a good time to remind you someone was looking for you an hour ago.”

Lan gasped. “I missed that Chantry thing!”

“Oh, yes. Completely.”

“Shit… I should go apologize...”

A beat passed.

“I see you’re not going.”

“If they’ve complained to Cassandra she’s going to kill me.”

“That is a distinct possibility. We do have a spare you to use as replacement.”

“I guess you do,” said Lan. He lowered his eyes, noticed the dust on the ground. They might have to sweep before leaving.

“I haven’t seen you since we came back from Crestwood,” said Dorian conversationally.

“Sorry. Things are constantly getting in the way.”

“You should stop by the library, if only to get a book about the Fifth Blight and learn about our illustrious friend Alistair.”

“Ah, yes… I’m relieved he didn’t seem offended.”

“Did your Lavellans even try to teach you anything about the world you’d woken up in?”

“They did their best. Hard to cram thousands of years of history in someone’s skull in only three years.”

“But the Blight affected the Free Marches! That’s where your Clan is from!”

“Was,” corrected Lan.

Dorian’s face fell. “I… apologize.”

“It's fine.” Lan sighed. “They told me about it. Just not everything about it. I suppose they didn’t think Alistair’s presence was worth mentioning.”

“He fought at the Hero of Ferelden's side!” protested Dorian, offended on the other man’s behalf.

“Really? What happened?”

“I don’t know everything off the top of my head. I know we have a few books about it in the library however. It would be good practice for you.”

“I never have the time. The moment we leave this room we won’t see each other for another blighted week. Nobody’s even gotten a read off my markings in weeks, they could be falling apart as we speak and I wouldn’t even know.”

Dorian hmmm’ed quietly. “If you’re not that fussed about the Chantry thing, then you have some free time before one of the sisters find you. Come on.”

Dorian led him to his own room, where he gestured toward the bed. Lan pulled his shirt off and lied down, and as Dorian began his magical diagnosis, he started to talk. About the Blight, and Alistair, and the Hero ; there were gaps in his knowledge, but Lan happily listened until the end. This was much more entertaining than any book.

* * *

The Grey Wardens had become number one priority for the Inquisition. And with Alistair’s help, a trip to the Western Approach was quickly decided and organized. A small team first, to observe what was happening and get an idea of what the Inquisition would have to face.

Knowing blood magic and demons were involved, Lan asked Solas to accompany him. Fenris and Hawke offered their services on their own, Varric close behind. The Iron Bull was asked as well. A sufficient number of people, even though Lan would have liked to ask Dorian to come along. But then, Dorian had his own problems ; the date of his meeting with his father’s people was coming up.

“What if I’m not back in time?” worried Lan, pacing in the garden where he’d found Dorian sitting on a bench under the timid sun. It was nearly empty save for two Tranquils picking up elfroot. “Are you going to go alone?”

“Probably,” said Dorian, lazily turning a page in the book he’d been reading before Lan interrupted. “Don’t look so offended, I need to know what my father wants from me exactly. I’d much prefer to have you with me but I can’t miss it…”

“I know,” mumbled Lan.

“Stop worrying about me, start worrying about yourself. I don’t particularly enjoy the thought of you gallivanting in the desert with Fenris to face potentially insane Warden blood-mages.”

Lan pursed his lips.

“I am not trying to gripe,” said Dorian, lifting a placating hand. “You can’t tell me putting him face to face with actual blood mages is the best idea.”

“He won’t do anything to me.”

“Yes, well… here’s hoping. At least Hawke will be there to keep him in check.”

“Dorian…”

“That’s all I have to say. Consider this subject dropped. Just… I can deal with you being late,” said Dorian, his grey eyes searching Lan’s, “but I don’t think I can deal with you-… you know. Any other reason for you not showing up. So be careful.”

“I promise.” Lan ran a hand through his hair -which was getting rather long. “Well… I have a little free time. Can I stay with you?”

“This is your castle, I am not going to kick you out,” said Dorian. His eyes suddenly lit up. “And I just had a brilliant idea.”

Without an explanation, Dorian handed Lan the book he’d been reading. Lan took it, deciphering the cover.

“Are those fairy tales?”

“Orlesian fairy tales. They somehow manage to be both mawkish and morbid at the same time, it’s fascinating.”

“Why are you reading this?”

“I was curious,” said Dorian with a shrug. “This is one of the books that were already in the library when we arrived. I wondered why whoever owned this castle before us didn’t take it with them.”

“Did you discover why?”

“No, actually. Some of them really are quite interesting. Someone else must have been checking it out, I found it on this bench. My dear Inquisitor...” Dorian grinned like a cat who’s just found a way into the pantry. “Read to me.”

Lan tentatively opened the book. “Are you sure? It’s not going to be smooth…”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay…” Lan sat down on the grass beside the bench.

“Really?”

“What?” asked Lan, looking up.

“There’s space on the bench!”

“I prefer the ground.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, but left Lan to his idiosyncrasies.

It didn’t start very well. More nervous than he should, Lan struggled, hesitating over the simplest words. But Dorian was listening patiently, making small noises of encouragement whenever Lan stopped in frustration. The sun was warm and nice on his back, the garden was calm. Line after line, Lan’s reading smoothed over, until he was reading nearly without pause.

“The Hawk is coming,” said Cole.

Lan nearly threw the book at the boy as Dorian jumped to his feet.

“Cole!”

“Yes?”

“What… are you doing?”

“Oh. I was listening to the stories. But then I heard the Hawk, she is coming here.”

“The... are you talking about Hawke?” asked Dorian. “Why are you warning us? Is she angry about something or is her favorite angry elf following her?”

“No,” said Cole simply. “But she is sad. Looking for a quiet place, for silence, just for a little while--”

“Why were you listening to the story?” asked Lan, cutting off the tirade before it could get too personal.

“I like listening to stories,” said Cole. “Cassandra reads to me sometimes.”

“Wait, what?”

“A lot of people fall in and out of love. She says it’s the point of the story. I don’t understand why they complicate everything.”

“Are you telling me,” said Dorian slowly, “that Cassandra Pentaghast reads romance novels? To you?”

“The Knight-Captain wants the Captain of the Guards for himself,” said Cole.

“I know we’ve met an evil ancient Magister resurrected as darkspawn,” said Dorian, “but this might just be the most bizarre thing I’ve heard since joining the Inquisition.”

“You don’t read yourself, Cole?” asked Lan.

“I can listen.”

“Yes, but…” Lan frowned then looked at Dorian. “Can spirits read?”

“I've never thought about it,” admitted Dorian. “Are you planning on teaching him?”

“I don’t want to read,” said Cole. “I want to listen. The Hawk is getting closer. She is sad but you can help,” he added, looking at Lan.

“Me? How?”

“She likes you. She’s not sure about you,” he added, turning to Dorian.

“Right, well.” Dorian gave Lan a small smile. “I leave you the book. Have fun with whatever bird appears.”

“You can stay,” tried Lan, but Dorian just huffed and turned around without another word.

For a moment after that, it was only Lan and Cole who stared at him without blinking.

“Okay...  anything else you wanted, Cole?”

“Can you read again?”

“Uh… I suppose so, but if Hawke is coming--”

Just then the main door to the garden opened, and Hawke strolled in.

“Oh. Hello, Inquisitor. You’re-... on the ground.”

“It’s easier to think down there,” said Lan with conviction.

Hawke blinked at him. “Well… enjoy it.”

She seemed about to leave. Lan glanced at Cole briefly.

“Serah Hawke, wait!”

She turned surprised eyes to him. “You don’t need to call me “serah” anything, Inquisitor.”

“Ah… in that case you can call me Lan.”

“That’s probably for the best,” she said with a grin. “We are practically family.”

Lan gaped. “I-uh… yes. Maybe.”

“Ah. You and Fenris still haven’t figured out if you’re really brothers, hm?”

“Not…. really.”

Her grin dropped, and her shoulders slumped a little. “Yes. He’s not being very forthcoming about…” She trailed off, and instead pointed in Lan’s general direction.

“Oh,” said Lan. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, is it. So far you’ve told me more about it than Fenris has.” She passed a hand through her hair. “Is he doing okay?”

“I think so,” said Lan. “But he doesn’t tell me much either.”

She sighed. “Yes, that is how he does it. I thought he was over this… this keeping everything to himself thing, I thought I’d managed to get him to open more, but… well. I’ll never really be allowed in, right,” she concluded. She looked back at Lan. “But you don’t care. Sorry to unload on you. I’ll leave you to your floor-reading. Oh, wait, I know this book!”

“You do?”

“Yes! My sister had it when we were little. I used to read it to her every evening to get her to go to sleep. I knew every tale by heart!”

A slow understanding came upon Lan. This book had mysteriously appeared on a day when Hawke felt blue? What a nice coincidence… Lan looked around, but Cole wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

He closed the book and held it out to Hawke. “It’s yours.”

“You’re in the middle of it!”

“I was reading to someone else.”

Hawke frowned and looked around in confusion, her gaze resting on the Tranquils.

“No, not them,” said Lan. He hesitated a second. “You’ve met Cole?”

“Your odd little spirit? I… think I have… at some point?” she said, head tilted in confusion. “I can’t remember when or how…”

“Cole, are you there?”

With a puff of ethereal smoke, Cole materialized next to Hawke who jumped out of her skin.

“What!”

“He does that. He wants me to read to him.”

“Okay…”

Once more, Lan held out the book to Hawke. “Maybe you can read to him.”

With doubtful eyes, Hawke took the offered book. She turned it in her hands, caressing the cover with care, fingers tracing the title’s silver letters. She looked back at Lan, then briefly at Cole.

“I’d like to hear the story,” said the spirit.

“Of all the things I expect a spirit to say... “ But his big blue eyes seemed to win her over, and she nodded slowly. “Fine.” She walked over to Lan, and sat by his side, her back against the bench. She smirked. “Let’s see if the ground is as good as you seem to think, Inquisitor… Lan.”

Without further ado, she opened the book and leafed through the pages until she found one tale she seemed to like above all the others. Cole sat down as well, on cross-legged in front of Hawke.

She started to read, her voice slow and melodious. She did know the story by heart, her cadence slowing or accelerating as needed to bring the text to life. Lan was surprised to even hear her make up voices for the characters.

Cole listened with rapt attention, his hands neatly crossed on his lap, head slightly tilted as if it helped him understand the nuances. When Hawke reached the end, a small smile on her lips, she looked up at him with glinting eyes.

“So? How was I?”

“I liked it!” said Cole eagerly. Lan had never heard him sound quite so joyful. “But I don’t understand why everyone wants the acorn.”

“Don’t you? Wait, there’s another tale that ties into this one…”

Hawke started reading again. Lan closed his eyes, listening to the story and the calm of this small garden.

* * *

There was a dragon in the Western Approach, and Lan made sure to stay clear of it. If Bull’s ramblings were anything to go by, this was not the right idea.

“I am not fighting a dragon!”

“You’re missing out,” said Bull. “Can I go?”

“No, you’re not fighting a dragon either.”

“I don’t know,” said Varric, “I’m pretty sure he can take it.”

All the meetings about this trip had not prepared Lan for the sand. And heat. And Venatori, who seemed to be reproducing faster than nugs. And now, dragons too.

“Nobody’s fighting a dragon!”

“You’re no fun, Boss.”

Lan rolled his eyes -and immediately regretted it. The wind took advantage of it to send half the desert’s sand supply into his eyeballs.

“I hate. This place,” he hissed, bringing his hands to his face.

“Scratching is only going to hurt more,” piped up Solas.

Lan resisted the urge to flip him off. That elf had been navigating every terrain like it was nothing, and he didn’t even wear real shoes. Neither did Fenris, for that matter. Sera was right, Lan thought bitterly as Fenris easily climbed up a sand dune with his naked feet, there was something detestable about elves.

They located the tower they were looking for. Lan’s hand fluttered to life. Quietly at first, then it sent a bolt of electricity up his arm.

“Fuck- ow…”

“Is it supposed to do that?” asked Hawke.

“It’s not supposed to exist,” groaned Lan. “It’s not supposed to do anything at all.”

“It means there is a rift nearby,” said Fenris, opting to be helpful when Lan was too grumpy to be.

“A big one,” added Varic. “Little ones don’t bother him that much. Prepare yourselves.”

They sneaked up the stairs of the tower, keeping low to the ground. The Anchor was getting angrier, but when they reached the top of the stairs, there was no rift.

Lan watched, wide-eyed, as Grey Wardens stood motionless to the side in rank with demons. Another one was cowering away from a Venatori and two of his own brethren advancing on him.

“This is wrong!” he yelped.

“Warden Commander Clarel’s orders were clear,” intoned the Venatori. “Remember your oath : In war, victory ; in peace, vigilance. In death...”

The Venatori gave the signal, and one of the Wardens grabbed the resisting one and stabbed him without even pausing.

“Sacrifice,” said the Venatori smugly.

Lan tensed. Something started to stir.

The blood pooling at the dead man’s feet rose in the air like a fountain, and magic exploded. Lan almost crumpled to the ground as it ran through him like a battering ram. A rage demon plopped out of a temporary rift, and the Warden mage immediately raised a hand and the terrible, sick magic washed over the demon. It bowed in front of the Mage, whose eyes flickered, then turned red.

Lan wanted to vomit. Fenris growled. Alistair detached himself from the rest of them and climbed the rest of the way up. Lan pulled his protesting body after them.

“Inquisitor!” greeted the Venatori as soon as he saw them. “What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.” He bowed with exaggerated flourish.

Lan took advantage of it and sent a fireball right at him. The magister felt it coming however, and deflected it before it touched him.

“How hostile,” he said languidly. “Is this how you treat your betters?”

“What are you doing to them?” asked Alistair.

Erimond’s eyes turned to him. “The one Clarel let slip,” he said tightly. “You went to cry to the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how it goes? Your first attempt doesn’t show a lot of promise.”

“Answer him,” snapped Lan.

“I did not do anything to them. They are doing it to themselves! My Master put the Calling into their little heads, and now he has them terrified. They looked everywhere for help. We were ready for them. I went to them full of sympathy, and Clarel and I came up with a plan… raise a demon army, and march into the Deep Roads to kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

“Oh,” said Lan. “That’s all? I don’t see anything wrong with that plan!” He turned to Alistair. “What is wrong with your Commander?!”

“She’s scared,” answered Alistair between clenched teeth. “They’re all scared.”

“Of course they are,” said Erimond. “And fear is the most powerful emotions. Powerful enough to convince a Grey Warden to do… this.”

Erimond raised a hand. The three Wardens standing in rank by the side echoed his gesture without blinking. When Erimond lowered his hand, so did they.

“That little binding ritual I taught the Warden mages has a small side effect,” said Erimond gleefully. “This was only a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the Ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

“That is actually insane,” said Hawke. She sounded genuinely impressed by the sheer stupidity of it all.

Anger brewed in Lan’s veins. “I won’t let you leave this place.”

Erimond smirked. “My Master told me you would try to stop me. He showed me how to deal with you.”

He thrust his arm out, and pain engulfed Lan. It swallowed his whole arm first then travelled through his tattoos. His muscles seized and he fell to his knees with a shout as he vaguely heard Fenris call his name.

“You stole that from my Master,” was saying Erimond, his words distorted to Lan’s ears.

Lan managed to look up through the red haze of burning pain. Erimond was smiling.

“When I bring him your head--” A crossbow bolt lodged in his shoulder. Erimond screamed, stumbled backward, and Lan was suddenly free.

He pushed himself back to his feet as Solas threw a lightning bolt. Erimond managed to counter it, holding his bleeding arm and hunched over in pain.

“Kill them!” he yelped.

The enthralled Wardens and Demons turned toward them at once. Everyone closed the ranks around Lan as he tried to recover his senses.

“You okay, Boss?” asked Iron Bull.

“Just get rid of them,” breathed Lan.

“Your wish is my command.”

Lan missed half the battle simply getting his hand under control. Once it was over, the demons’ bodies disappeared, the Grey Wardens lay dead and bloodied, and the Tevinter had run away. Lan closed his eyes, took a few breaths.

“We need to stop them,” said Alistair as he crouched next to the body of the stabbed Grey Warden. He closed the man’s eyes and whispered a Chantry prayer for the dead that Lan recognized from having heard it way too often.

“This is insane,” said Varric. “Who can hear a plan that involves blood magic and demon possession and think it’s a good idea?”

“Mages,” said Fenris without missing a beat.

“Not now, Fenris,” sighed Hawke.

“Are you really going to contradict me? After what you’ve just seen?”

Alistair stood. “They are wrong, but they have their reasons.”

“Everyone always has their reasons. I have heard them all. Reasons are not enough.”

Alistair shook his head and turned to Lan. “I think I know where the Wardens are. There is an abandoned Warden fortress not far from here, Adamant.”

“Isolated and abandoned,” said Varric. “Sounds like the perfect place for forbidden blood rituals.”

“I can scout it out,” volunteered Alistair.

Hawke turned toward Fenris.

“No,” said Fenris.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“I am coming with you.”

“Fenris. I’ll be back. I promise. It’s just a recognition mission. We won’t do anything. Will we, Alistair?”

“I don’t plan on assaulting the fortress by myself, no.”

“See? You are needed here, Fenris.” Her eyes flickered to Lan, who quickly looked elsewhere.

She kissed Fenris before leaving with Alistair, riding off into the desert toward a possibly demon-ridden fortress. Lan brought his arms around himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Fenris scoffed. “This isn’t about you. She thinks she protects me by leaving me behind. You are just an excuse.”

That… made Lan feel worse. He was distracted by Solas approaching him.

“Do you want to take a look?”

“It might be enlightening,” agreed the elf.

They made camp quickly, fabricating blessed shadows in the middle of the desert. Lan made an approximation of a tent and slipped inside, took his upper armor off and lied down.

He wasn’t used to Solas’ magic anymore, not after Dorian had taken over. Solas’s energy felt radically different ; it was lighter, but it also pulled at the lyrium almost like it was trying to tear it out of him. It didn’t hurt, really, but it was such a foreign feeling. His body accepted Dorian’s magic better, even if it seemed to burrow deeper into his body.

“Everything seems to have settled,” said Solas eventually. “I cannot detect any changes. That being said, you have not come to see me in quite some time.”

“I… Dorian’s been…”

“So I understand. Has he found anything interesting that you would be willing to share?”

Lan sat up and put his shirt back on. “He says the spells are some kind of experimental Tevinter magic, so experimental that it just… failed. Do you know anything about Tevinter magic?”

Solas had a small smile. “I know some about all magics. Tevinter was built on the ruins of the Elven Empire. They push the boundaries of decency, but at its core, all Tevinter magic shares similarities and aspects that have almost disappeared from Fereldan or Orlesian magic.”

“Huh. Were Ancient Elves big on blood magic, then?”

“That is a question I can’t answer.”

Lan wrung his hands together. “Solas… in the future Redcliffe, the army of demons Erimond is talking about was real. It had invaded Thedas. If this is how it starts -where it starts…” He looked back at the elf. “In that timeline, the magic and the lyrium messed me up. If the Wardens at Adamant start this ritual... and with Erimond doing whatever that was with the Anchor...” Lan shivered. “If it affects me, if I can’t stop it -if I’m overwhelmed, I know how this ends. I don’t want to see this, ever. I’m… scared.”

Solas considered him for a moment in complete silence.

“The main difference with what you experienced in the timeline,” said Solas eventually, “is that you were caught by surprise. We are going back to Skyhold. We are going to stop it. There is no alternative.”

Lan sighed. “I wish I had your confidence.”

He wrestled with his sweat-soaked shirt and walked out. The heat was hard to suffer still, though that did not seem to worry Bull and Fenris who were talking together a little ways away, out of the shade. Lan sat next to Varric under a strip of cloth.

“You have a sunburn on your nose,” he remarked.

He picked up Bianca and started fidgeting with her various bits and pieces, just to have something to occupy his nervous hands.

“Thanks, I know. I’m lucky to only have one -don’t touch that bit, it’s delicate,” Varric said, slapping Lan’s fingers away from a few weird keys on the side of the crossbow. “This is way too much sun for one dwarf.”

“Too much for this elf too. These two are happy enough though,” Lan said, using Bianca to point at Fenris and Bull.

“They're used to it. Tevinter’s a hot place.”

Lan tilted his head. “Fenris hasn’t been to Tevinter in years, just like me.”

“But you are a delicate flower.” Varric grinned when Lan scowled at him. “Hey, have you seen my nose? I’m talking from experience here.”

Lan put Bianca on his knees and pulled compulsively at the string, making a little ‘twang!’ noise. “He’ll be fine, right?”

“Who? Broody? Why wouldn’t he be? Stop torturing my crossbow.”

“Sorry.” Lan put Bianca down. Varric immediately picked it up, out of the sand. “Hawke’s worried about him. And he just looks lost when she’s not here.”

“Yeah. These two have been together almost every day since they met back in Kirkwall. They fled together. They hid together. I don’t think they’ve left each other’s side at all this past year.”

“Oh. That must be very disorienting not to have her with him, then.”

“I’m pretty sure it is.” They fell silent for a little while. “How’s your hand, by the way?”

“Fine, I think. Who knows...”

“Solas knows what that asshole did to it?”

“Nope.”

“Isn’t that nice.”

“Yep.”

A shadow fell over him. Lan slowly looked up at Fenris.

“...Hi?”

“When are we leaving?”

“Um… I was thinking this evening. It’ll be a little colder. I want to reach an Inquisition camp before nightfall to send a crow to Skyhold, then we’ll ride home tomorrow at dawn.”

“Good.”

“Oh, Fenris!” Lan quickly got to his feet as the elf started to leave. “Once we’re back in Skyhold I’ll need to go to Redcliffe for a few days.”

“And?”

“And you can’t come along. It’s, um, delicate. I know you promised Hawke and everything,” Lan said quickly as Fenris opened his mouth to protest, “but I’ll be fine. It’s a short journey, it’s not anything dangerous.” Probably.

It took a second before Fenris answered, “Fine. I am to wait at Skyhold like a puppy, then.”

“Uh… You know you’re free to go wherever you want and do stuff, Skyhold’s not a prison…”

Fenris gave him a flat look and walked out, back into the sun like a maverick.

Lan sighed and turned to Varric. “You’ll keep an eye on him, right?”

Varric patted him on the forearm. “Always.”

* * *

Coming back to Skyhold, Lan learned that Dorian had just left for Redcliffe the day before. He barely took time to eat something, before jumping on a fresh horse and setting off once more, accompanied by two guards that Leliana insisted come with him since Lan absolutely refused that Fenris accompanied him.

He rode his poor horse almost to exhaustion to reach Redcliffe on time. He finally entered the little village on the morning of the meeting and found Dorian down by the pier. He dismissed his guards and ran over.

“You’re here!” Dorian jumped to his feet. “And in one piece! And… looking rough.”

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to stop and bathe. Didn’t you get my message? I sent a crow just before leaving the Approach, telling you I was fine.”

“I did, I did. I just wasn’t sure you weren’t hiding some debilitating injury. Is your hand all right?”

Dorian took it without waiting for an answer and turned it between his fingers, as if he could read something into it. The Anchor was completely silent.

Dorian shook his head. “I should have been there. Maybe I could have identified whatever this Erimond used on you…”

“Dorian. I’m fine.”

Dorian grumbled. “I don’t know an Erimond. He must have entered the Magisterium after I left, but even before he wasn’t notable enough to make himself known. Little man looking for power… At least Varric shot him. Too bad he missed vital organs.”

They killed time walking aimlessly. Lan tried to distract Dorian, but the man became more and more taciturn as the hour approached. When finally they made their way toward the Gull and Lantern, he was silent as a tomb and Lan could feel the anxious energy wafting off of him. What was Dorian expecting, exactly? Lan unhooked his staff. Dorian glanced at him, a very strange expression on his face, and pushed the door open.

Dorian’s father was not the person Lan was expecting, and the same went for Dorian whose whole body had gone impossibly tense the second the man revealed himself.

“What is this then, Father?” asked Dorian, voice icy cold as he glared daggers at the man, who looked miserable standing there in his expensive robes. “Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?”

The Magister’s eyes fell on Lan. “This is how it has always been,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, and Lan could only stare.

Was he expecting Lan to commiserate? He didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. But Dorian’s jaw tightened at the words, and his eyes briefly slipped off his father, something like shame buried under all the anger.

“Why are we here?” Lan asked as steadily as he could.

The father walked closer. Lan took a step back without thinking.

“I only wish to speak with my son,” said the Magister. He was wearing expensive robes that screamed “powerful Tevinter mage” to Lan. Magister Erimond had worn armor and had been too smarmy for Lan to feel anything but disgust and anger toward him, but this man in front of him was something else. He was too quiet, this was too personal. The atmosphere was too tense. Every fiber of Lan's being was starting to shake in fear and discomfort.

He looked at Dorian, still tense as a bowstring and exuding all the body language of a prey observing a predator. Lan took a deep breath and stepped closer to Dorian. Whatever was happening, he knew which side he was on.

“I’m not going anywhere. What is this about?”

Dorian threw him a glance, but Lan’s words seemed to shut the Magister up for a moment.

“I prefer the company of men,” said Dorian after a short silence. “My father disapproves.”

Lan blinked at him. “What?”

“Did I stutter?” snapped Dorian, turning to face him. “Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it!”

“I… have,” said Lan lamely, taken aback by the sudden rise of Dorian’s voice. “Is that… is that it? Is that the problem?”

“Not all of it.”

“Dorian, please,” said the Magister. “If you’d only listen to me-”

“Why? So you can spout more convenient lies?” Dorian whirled toward Lan. “He taught me to hate blood magic. The resort of weak men, he called it. But what’s the first thing he did when his precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to- change me!”

Lan was frozen and his thoughts were spiralling. Had he heard right? … no. No, that couldn’t be.

“I only wanted what was best for you!”

“No. You wanted what was best for you. For your fucking legacy! Anything for that.”

Dorian’s voice broke and he turned his back on his father, leaning against a table for support as his shoulders bowed under the weight of his emotions. Lan could only stare at the Magister.

“Blood magic?” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper, squeaking through shrunken lungs. “You used blood magic on Dorian? To change him?”

There was a bitter laugh from Dorian. The Magister didn’t move, but Lan understood nonetheless. He grabbed Dorian’s arm.

“We have to get you out of here.”

Dorian looked at him but didn’t move, so Lan pulled on him.  

“Out. Out of here. Away. Safe.”

“Lan-”

“Dorian,” started the Magister.

Lan felt a surge of magic through him and only barely managed to keep himself from releasing it toward the Magister. But the other two mages felt it, and Dorian finally moved as his father took a step back in surprise.

Lan didn’t release his hold on Dorian’s arm until they were out of the tavern and almost out of the village altogether. Only then did he finally realize his white-knuckled grip on the Tevinter’s bare skin and retracted his hands. His fingers left a clear imprint on Dorian’s forearm.

“Blood magic?” asked Lan, his throat feeling far too tight. “He tried to use blood magic on you? Because you like men?!”

“That is the gist of it,” said Dorian, sardonic.

“I can’t… That’s not… No. We’re going back to Skyhold.”

“Is that an order?”

“What?” Lan turned to him. “No. I just… you--… you can’t stay here, we can’t stay here, not when he’s here, Dorian we have to- we have to go and-and...”

Lan gave up on words. His hands were clasped around his staff, his muscles coiled and ready to fight a danger they hadn’t identified. Dorian was standing stock still, arms crossed on his chest. There was a look in his eyes that made Lan want to run away and hug him at the same time. But he couldn’t. He didn’t even know what to say. All he knew was that he needed to get Dorian away from that Magister, quickly.

His skin prickled at the thought of that ritual. What had he even intended to do?! A thrall? Lan’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. The Anchor fizzled briefly.

An image flashed through his mind. Green eyes, staring blankly at nothing, pupils wide. Mouth open, drool on her chin. And him, wishing he had the courage to kill her.

Lan physically flinched. He frantically pushed the memory away, his teeth grinding so hard together they felt like they might shatter. He had to get some distance between Dorian and this Magister as quickly as possible.

“I’m so sorry,” he said finally. “Please… please can we go back to Skyhold? We can’t stay here- you can’t stay here.”

Dorian stayed still a few moments more before giving him a nod. They took their horses, found Leliana’s guards, and rode back to Skyhold in perfect silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magisters from afar : Lan's uncomfortable but can deal with it.  
> Magisters up close : PANIC ATTACK. ABORT. ABORT. ABORT.
> 
> I wish the game had given me the option to walk out with Dorian before his father can finish with his excuses. Alas, I have to listen to him going "sorry I tried to erase your entire sense of self with a wonky ritual that could have just killed you or turned you into a vegetable just so I could continue to be important, but you know, you were a difficult child, so it's kinda your fault." Father of the year.


	20. Chapter 20

Lan had been avoiding Dorian. He knew it. And he hated himself for it.

The first day after coming back to Skyhold, he’d made up cowardly excuses for himself -the man needed some privacy, surely he wouldn’t appreciate Lan barging in, this was too personal… But the days came and went and Lan still had to put a foot anywhere he had a chance of bumping into Dorian. 

Even worse, Lan knew that Dorian would not talk about this with anyone. He was the only person who could reach out to him in some way, make sure he was okay. Exactly what was not happening.

He was afraid, he was angry. He felt helpless. He wanted to help Dorian -he had no idea how to help Dorian. He wanted to talk about it all -he was terrified of talking about it. He was not equipped for this. He would make things worse. He was afraid learning the exact nature of this blood magic ritual would unravel his sanity.

Hawke and Alistair came back. Fenris was suddenly a lot more visible around the castle as he was never very far from Hawke, and Hawke was a lot of things, but discreet wasn’t one of them. Alistair, meanwhile, seemed to be very interested in Morrigan and her strange child, even though every time Lan had seen them talk it had looked incredibly awkward. 

As much as Lan wanted to be left alone and wallow in self-pity, things were heating up for the Inquisition. Slowly, they sent their soldiers to the Western Approach in waves, to keep watch and prepare. Given that half their forces were in the Exalted Plains dealing with rogue Orlesians and demons, every decision Lan made meant denying someone help somewhere. Time was running short, and the anxious weight on Lan’s chest kept getting heavier. 

To complicate things further, the Commander was making himself scarce when they needed him the most. Cassandra declared he was sick, and she filled in for him but she didn’t know the troops like he did. Problems kept appearing where they shouldn’t, everything was going too slowly. 

Worried, and also annoyed and tired beyond belief and wishing one blighted thing would go smoothly in this entire castle, just one, was that too much to ask?, Lan waited only two days before stomping his way up the battlements and knocking rather loudly on the door to Cullen’s office.

“What?”

Lan recoiled. “Uh... It’s me, Commander. It’s Lan.”

There was a pause. That stretched. And stretched. Worry gnawed at Lan and he slowly pushed the door open and peered inside. 

Cullen jumped up from his chair. 

“Sorry!” cried out Lan, but Cullen’s legs gave out from under him and Lan had to dive to catch him before he brained himself on the desk. “Commander! Oof-” Lan fell to his knees under the weight. 

“Inquisitor- I am so sorry…” Cullen’s voice was hoarse, his forehead was creased in pained lines, his eyes glassy. His skin felt clammy as he feebly pushed Lan away. 

“Commander, it’s fine, it’s all right- Oh Creators. You’re burning up!” squeaked Lan. “I-I’m getting a healer-”

Cullen took a tremulous breath. “It’s not- necessary.”

“How is it not? I’ll be right back just don’t move--”

“Inquisitor.” Cullen pulled Lan back before he could get to his feet. “This is not-... not something the healers can help.”

“What are you--” Lan stopped himself. Was this what Alistair had talked about? “Oh… shit. I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Cullen looked up, eyes just slightly unfocused. “You know?”

“I guessed,” said Lan. “I’ve heard things about lyrium, and I… I’ve been wondering about you for a while but I didn’t want to force you to tell me...”

“No. No, I should have come to you ages ago. I was trying to find the right time -it doesn’t exist. Maker’s breath…” A shiver ran through him. 

“Cullen, maybe a healer can still help-”

“No. It’s- it’ll pass. I’m so sorry, Inquisitor this is not- really not--”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lan quickly. 

His spindly arms helped the Commander back to his feet, with some effort. Every movement seemed to cause Cullen a tremendous amount of pain. That was something Lan knew very well, and also something he had no experience soothing. 

“Heavy armor,” he blurted out when the silence threatened to smother him. “Isn’t it bothering you? You should change into something less… metal. And less fur.”

Cullen sighed, ran his hands down his face. “I was expecting to work today,” he rasped. “This- took me by surprise. It comes and goes but usually gives me some warning. I don’t know if it means I’m… getting worse…”

Oh. Lan was not quite prepared for the wave of sadness that washed over him. 

“I’m sorry, Commander,” he said, not having anything else to offer. “Is there no way to… to slow it down? Maybe, I don’t know. Take less lyrium for a while? Does that help at all?”

Cullen twitched. “Do you think I’m still taking it in secret?”

“What?” asked Lan. “Why would you take it in secret?”

“You’re… asking me to take it overtly?”

“I don’t know. Do what you feel like doing! I don’t know how this works…”

“Inquisitor.” Cullen sounded utterly tired and not ready to deal with Lan’s awkward attempts. “If… if you want me to start taking it again, I will. Just know that Cassandra knows and is ready to relieve me of my duties should I take a turn for the worst. But… If that is what you wish, if you think I am failing you, then-”

Lan’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

Stop. 

Go back.

“Cullen… are you telling me you’re not taking lyrium?” Cullen gave him a very mournful look, and Lan’s heart jumped in panic. “No, no, wait! I’m not telling you to start taking it again! That’s not what I’m saying! It’s- the addiction-- are you resisting it?”

“What else?”

“I thought… Fenedhis. I thought your mind was getting destroyed by the lyrium.”

“That’s precisely what I am trying to avoid. Not that it’s working,” he groaned, rubbing his forehead furiously. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a healer? You really don’t look well.”

“The bouts of withdrawal come and go as they please. There is no cure and no relief. I tried.”

Lan looked up at the mezzanine. His roof held on still. He looked back at his Commander, miserable and far too pale.

“I can help you up the ladder.”

Cullen made a ‘hmmph’ of disbelief. 

“Come on, Commander.”

Cullen looked back at him. “Are you serious?”

“Well, you can’t stay at that desk, and you can’t get up the ladder by yourself. I’ll help you, and you’ll just- sleep and try to survive with your mind intact.”

Cullen looked at him for a moment. 

“That’s a tall order.”

“Is it? Well it’s just an order. From your Inquisitor. Please, Cullen? I can’t get on with my evening knowing you’re in pain at your desk.”

“Evening,” echoed Cullen, eyes slowly going to the windows. “Is it evening already?”

“...Okay.”

It took a minute of blind fumbling before Lan managed to unclasp Cullen’s fluffy fur cape-thing off his shoulders. It was slightly easier to manoeuvre him that way, and he seemed to have regained enough sense to do some of the work. He was still a heavy human with more muscles and metal on him than was strictly necessary, however, and by the time Cullen was finally sitting on his bed, Lan’s arms and legs were shaking with the strain.

Cullen’s glassy eyes travelled to the roof. “I never thanked you for this.”

“I didn’t ask a worker, I promise.”

“I know. I asked who did it and nobody could answer me. Dorian didn’t even answer, he just made a face…” Cullen closed his eyes, sucking a breath between his teeth. 

“You’ll thank me tomorrow,” said Lan. “Just… please, take it easy.” 

_ Please be fine.  _

Looking for outlets for the nervous energy coursing through him, Lan puttered around aimlessly. He picked up a blanket that had slipped off the bed and covered the Commander with it when the man started shivering, he pulled curtains close. He went down to the office and made piles with the various papers strewn about the desk, found a jug of water and brought it back up, leaving it within easy reaching distance to the bed. For a little while Cullen seemed to be in too much pain to care, and then he fell asleep altogether. Lan left him, heart heavy.

So he’d misunderstood, but the problem remained. Lyrium addiction took a templar’s mind away, but withdrawal did not look any better. Was Cullen going to die? He couldn’t. Cassandra wouldn’t let him. 

Lan closed his eyes and let the cold wind blow through his hair. Adamant was right around the corner. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want anything to happen to Cullen, and he didn’t want anything to happen to anybody. He didn’t want to face an army of demons controlled by blood magic. He didn’t want to kill Grey Wardens. At the very least, if Cullen was too ill to go, he would stay safe… but him not being there would lower their chances of success, and those already seemed dangerously low.

Lan was… scared. Scared shitless. He’d known this was a war since the very beginning -but never had it looked more like it than right now. Petty Orlesian Games and infiltration missions did not compare to sending an entire army to a battlefield. There was no way to avoid people dying here. No amount of preparation beforehand could assure everyone’s safety. Lan was going to see his friends die, just like he had in this other Redcliffe. Mowed down by demons.

His throat constricted and his heart gave a painful squeeze. Lan ran. Down the stairs, back to the main hall, and went through Solas’ study like the wind. He didn’t stop until he was in front of Dorian’s door and banged against it.

It took a moment. Enough that Lan was starting to feel like running back the other way. But Dorian eventually opened, and Lan’s lungs stopped working.

“Inquisitor,” Dorian greeted blankly. Blood vessels had burst in his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“I-... C-can I come in?”

For a second he was afraid Dorian would say no. But the man stepped aside, and Lan quickly slithered in. 

He waited until Dorian had closed the door and looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. 

Dorian huffed. “You say that so often, it does start to lose its meaning.” His voice was flat and unemotional and it made Lan want to cry. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.” He forced himself to meet Dorian’s eyes. “I-... Are you all right?”

“No.”

The answer caught Lan by surprise. He had not expected brutal honesty. Everything inside him withered.

“Dorian, I-… I don’t know what to say.”

“You have made this quite clear by not saying anything.”

No, no,  _ no _ . This was all wrong. Dorian was defensive, as if expecting a fight or at the very least, to hear something he didn’t want to hear. Lan had screwed up.

He gave up, broke free of his hesitation, and wrapped his arms around Dorian. He tightened his hold when he felt Dorian stiffen -not enough to hurt, not enough to make it an order to stay. Just… just enough. Or at least, he hoped it was enough.

He wanted to help, even if he didn’t know how. He wanted Dorian to feel safe within these walls before he had to leave them to fight blood mages. He was ready to give his life for this Inquisition and Lan had been too much of a coward to even look at him. 

Dorian’s arms came around him. Lan felt them return the embrace. It was awkward as Dorian was still tense and hesitant, but it was something, and Lan had to squeeze his eyes shut to contain his tears.

They stayed like this for a while. Lan knew it wasn’t enough, he had to do more, be more, but as long as Dorian didn’t move, he wouldn’t either. 

“You have very bony elbows,” said Dorian after a very long while. 

It startled a laugh out of Lan. They finally parted, though they stayed close. Dorian’s eyes were still clouded, some dark emotion swirling in them. 

“They go with my bony everything,” Lan said. 

Dorian smiled, such a small smile. 

“Dorian… do you want to talk?”

“What is there to say?” Dorian sighed. “I wondered what you thought of me, after that whole display. You disappeared, I thought--... Well. The hug is a surprise.”

Horror colored Lan’s face. “No! No, I wasn’t avoiding you because-… I was avoiding you because I’m an idiot, Dorian, not because I think any less of you. I think-...” He stopped, too tongue-tied to manage anything, and Dorian was staring at him weirdly. 

_ Maker’s breath, Lan start making sense _ ! He took a deep breath. 

“I- I can’t know how you feel… but… I know how scared I am to stand up to people who hurt me, and these people aren’t even my family. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. And I think your father deserves- I don’t even know what he deserves. What he attempted to do- what you went through… He’s… he’s...” Lan stopped. He’d lost his words again.

“He’s a good man,” said Dorian with a sad smile, out of some residual instinct to defend the man who’d raised him. “Deep down. He taught me a lot, you know... He taught me to hate blood magic. The fact that he wanted to use it on his own son, that he’d trade me against his perfect legacy…” Dorian trailed off. 

“Did he… do anything…?”

“No,” said Dorian. “He obviously did not tell me what he was planning, but he did lock me up for a few months while he researched the ritual. That did give me a slight hint that something was amiss. I didn’t give him the opportunity, I escaped.”

“He  _ locked you up _ ?”

“I might have been seen in a less than savory part of Minrathous once or twice,” said Dorian with a bitter smile. “He didn’t want it to happen again. It’s bad for his reputation, you see… so he sent armed templars to pull me out of my last conquest’s bed. Literally. I had to plead to be allowed to put on clothes before they dragged me home.” Dorian tilted his head. “Not my proudest moment.”

Lan’s heart felt like it had shrunk and almost disappeared. “Dorian… that’s…” Lan sniffled and desperately tried to keep his tears from falling. 

“If he had succeeded…” Dorian’s voice was barely above a whisper, “I don’t know what would have happened. I’m not sure he did, either. I would not be me anymore, in any case. I don’t know who I’d be. Possibly a drooling vegetable...”

> _ *Green eyes, pupil wide and unseeing, mouth slack* _

Lan’s hand grabbed Dorian’s and squeezed it, hard.

“Please don’t say that.”

“I do wonder what changed his mind,” said Dorian quietly. “What pushed him to come all the way to Redcliffe…”

“He’s not a good man.”

Dorian glanced at him. “You did not see him under the best light, certainly.”

“No. He didn’t even… apologize for any of this-...” This time Lan did start crying. “I’m sorry I avoided you. I’m sorry I left you alone. I shouldn’t have. You- you trusted me enough to ask me to come with you, and I just made a mess of it.”

There was a silence, before Dorian spoke again. His voice sounded rougher.

“I have to admit I was confused. You really did your best to avoid even looking at me for days. But,” he added with a hint of a smile, “at the very least you kept your promise.”

Lan sniffed. “What promise?”

“The one you made at the Winter Palace. That you would protect me against whoever was waiting for me.”

“I protected you?”

“You pushed me out of the tavern,” Dorian said with a small shrug. “I honestly do not know what I would have done if I had been alone with him.”

“I-... I just wanted to get you away. Just-... just away.”  _ Safe _ .

“You followed through on your promise,” said Dorian. “It has been a while since someone thought I was worth protecting. Or... crying over. Please stop crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Lan said, finally releasing Dorian’s hand to quickly wipe his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, though, so Lan gave up on them. He took Dorian’s hand again instead, pulling it onto his lap, and rested his head on the man’s shoulder.

“I won’t leave you alone again. I swear.” 

In this position, he couldn’t see the man’s face. But he heard Dorian’s breathing hitch in his chest, and a tremulous sigh.

“You’re the worst,” said Dorian, his voice slightly choked up.

Lan pressed himself against Dorian, until he felt like he could melt into the man if only he tried hard enough.

Fen’harel take him, but this filled him with so much warmth that he never wanted to let go, and he could only hope with all his heart that Dorian felt the same on some level. That it helped. If even a little. 

* * *

Lan did not sleep that night. 

Dorian eventually dozed off, exhausted and a little drunk. Lan covered him with a blanket and carefully arranged his head so he wouldn’t wake up with a crick in his neck. Then he sat next to the bed, and watched the slow rise and fall of Dorian’s chest.

He was too strung up to sleep, and too worried to leave. What  _ would  _ have happened if Lan hadn’t made it to Redcliffe in time? Would Dorian have felt alone, enough to consider leaving with his father? There was clearly something in Dorian that still wanted to trust the man. Perhaps without Lan here the Magister would have been less… docile. Someone ready to use blood magic on his son once, surely, wouldn’t have that much scruples doing it twice. 

Every outcome Lan could think of was more terrible than the last. He had felt some guilt at having pushed Dorian out of the tavern, taking away his right to decide for himself, but now he wasn’t so sure it hadn’t been the right call.

The sky slowly changed, grey light reaching out and snuffing out the stars. Soon the sun would rise, and with it, the rest of Skyhold. Lan got to his feet and stretched his limbs, heavy with fatigue. He was so tired, yet his mind still refused to settle. So he stood there, wondering what to do next.

Sensing the change, Dorian’s eyes blinked open. He frowned, as if trying to understand what Lan was doing here, before his eyes showed a little bit of lucidity as his memories came back to him. He sat up quickly, reflexively smoothing his hair and glancing down at himself as if to make sure he was still wearing clothes.

“Ah… hum... Hello.”

“Hi,” Lan answered. 

An awkward silence floated by. 

“So,” Dorian said eventually. “You saw me drool on my pillow.”

“... I can lie about that, if you want.”

“Please.”

“Your pillow is pristine.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” Dorian relaxed a little and rubbed his eyes. He looked over at Lan and cleared his throat. “I do apologize if I drooled all over... you… as well.”

“I don’t mind. I mean it’s not bad. I mean--”

“Thank you,” said Dorian softly. Lan’s mouth fell shut. “For being here. And for staying even after I demeaned myself like that.”

Lan stared at him. “Dorian. I’ve been snivelling into your coats over boo boos since we met.”

“That’s… quite the image.”

“You didn’t demean yourself at all. I.. I’m glad I was here. I should have been here sooner.”

“Ah, ruminating on the past is not a good idea, Inquisitor. All those wrinkles are going to stick if you keep that up.” He glanced out the window. “It is disgustingly early, which means you have time to go freshen up. Might want to wash the Tevinter off you before people get suspicious.”

Lan scowled. “I’m not in the mood for remarks against you.”

Dorian barked a laugh. “You do know I am a grown man, despite yesterday’s display. I can defend myself.”

“I know! That’s not- I wasn’t trying to say you couldn’t. It’s just-”

“I understand,” said Dorian gently. “Go on, get out of here and into your bathtub before the halls start to fill.”

Lan hesitated a moment. He took a step toward Dorian, who watched him with an eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“Can I hug you?”

The question seemed to take Dorian aback. “I.. find myself unable to provide you with a reason not to.”

Lan closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. The warmth was welcome after a night spent on the floor. Lan felt his limb loosen.

Dorian huffed. “You are a lot more huggy than I would have expected.”

They stayed like this a moment, but Lan did have to leave. He hurried to his quarters, where he cleaned himself quickly before jumping into clean clothes. He was at the Commander’s door just as the sun actually showed up above the horizon, adding some vibrant orange to the featureless grey of early dawn. 

He took a deep breath, and lifted a hand. 

He’d barely knocked once when the door was wrenched open by the Commander. He looked… worse. Eyes sunken, dark rings around them ; his cheekbones salient and pulling on his ashen skin, lips dried and cracked. He was dressed in full armor and the sunrise was painting the metal red. 

“You.”

Lan blinked. “I… just wanted to know if-”

“The lyrium.”

“What?”

Lan suddenly realized his markings were glowing. They were showing through his shirt. 

“What the-”

Cullen’s hand shot out and clasped around Lan’s throat. His eyes were tinged with red as he dragged Lan inside by the neck.

Panic flooded Lan. His markings flared even brighter. He fumbled, trying to break Cullen’s hold on him but the templar’s strength was too great. His eyes were crazed as they peered into Lan’s.

“Cul-cullen--” Lan coughed around the hand closing up his throat. His magic spluttered to life but Cullen’s smite hit him before he could do anything. 

His hands hit against Cullen’s arm, but it was like hitting stone. The blue hue of Lan’s markings started to turn red. In a desperate attempt Lan put both hands on the Commander’s chest, trying to push him away. His hands phased through him. Lan felt his fingers close around Cullen’s heart, and the red lyrium kept invading his veins, eating his body from the inside-

He sat up with a scream, scratching and pushing against the weight holding him down-

“Lan! Lan, it was just a nightmare. You’re okay.”

Dorian. Dorian’s voice. Lan’s hand was spluttering with Fade energy, and it hurt as if someone had just stomped on it with heavy boots.

“Just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

_ Safe? _

Lan jumped out of the bed, scratching his arms frantically. His tattoos were tingling, itching. He almost ripped his shirt as he pulled it over his head to look at his skin. 

The markings were as pale and lifeless as they should. Not a hint of red. Not glowing, even as the Anchor kept hissing, bubbling, like boiling water. 

“Lan?” He looked up. Dorian was halfway out of the bed, looking at him in deep concern.

“C-can you take a look at me?”

“Of course. Come here.”

Shaking, Lan hobbled back to the bed and all but fell into it. His breathing was ragged as Dorian pulled him against himself, securing Lan’s tiny frame against his chest to stop the uncontrollable tremors. Lan felt the familiar tug of magic scurry across the tattoos. 

It only lasted a few minutes, but Lan felt like an eternity passed before Dorian stopped.

“Everything seems a bit agitated, but you are quite agitated yourself. What happened?”

Lan let out a heavy sigh. The Anchor was calming down. He sagged against the chest behind him.

“Just a nightmare,” he said softly, closing his eyes against the memories of Cullen’s red gaze. “I… Dorian, did I… wake up once already?”

Dorian shifted a little behind him. “Yes. I found you staring at me in my sleep, which was a bit disturbing by the way. You don’t remember?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know when my nightmare started.”

“Oh. Well, you woke up, stared at me a little, then we discussed drool, and I suggested you go change. You hugged me. And fell asleep on top of me.”

Lan vaguely registered he should be embarrassed about that, but he was too shaken to muster the energy.

“You should have woken me up.”

“You looked like you’d been up all night, and it’s mostly my fault. I figured a little sleep wouldn’t hurt… except that it did. That was quite the nightmare.”

Lan shivered. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

“No,” said Dorian, “but you worry me. Last time I saw you having a nightmare you ran away in the red-lyrium-infested snow in the middle of the night.”

“Sorry.”

“Maker’s breath, stop apologizing. Just tell me if you are all right.”

“I’m fine,” Lan promised.

Of course the first dream he remembered in months was some kind of horrific image that he couldn’t separate from reality. The real Cullen would never carve the lyrium out of Lan. The Commander had never even commented on Lan’s tattoos. It was a stupid fear brought on by unchecked emotions and demons latching on to his frazzled mind.

“I… I need to take that bath,” he said, reluctantly leaving the safety and warmth of Dorian’s chest. “I’ll see you later?”

“If you so decide. Are you going to be okay?”

“It was just a nightmare,” Lan insisted. “I’ll be fine. Will you?”

“I’ll manage.”

Lan smiled at him and left. He hurried through the hall, thankful that almost everyone was still asleep, and quickly bathed and jumped into fresh clothes. 

He stopped by the kitchens to dice as many different fruits as a plate could hold. Thus armed with breakfast, he climbed up the battlements. He stopped before the door. His nightmare nibbled at him. He could feel the templar’s hands around his neck still. He could remember the feeling of the red lyrium seeping into his markings. 

Lan licked his dry lips, and gathered his courage. He knocked. There was no answer. Anxiety gripped him, until he noticed noises from inside. 

He knocked once more. “Commander? It’s Lan, I have… fruits.”

The noise stopped. Nobody came to open. 

“I’m coming in,” warned Lan. 

Cullen was at his desk. He was dressed in the loose clothes he usually wore under his armor, and he looked terrible. 

For a second Lan almost ran away. The sunken eyes, the salient cheekbones, the fevered sheen to his skin, it was all too much like his dream. Except there wasn’t a hint of red in the Commander’s eyes, and he looked miserable, and the box he’d been opening and then closing repeatedly sang with a very faint but familiar song. 

Lan approached the desk, carefully but noisily. Once he was sure the Commander had noticed him, he slowly reached out and took the wooden box and put the plate of fruits in its place.

Cullen watched him do without reacting. Then he chuckled mirthlessly. 

“I wasn’t going to take it.” His voice was horribly raspy.

“I have breakfast, if you feel like it.”

Cullen didn’t answer, still staring dully at the fruit. Lan put the box on a shelf as far away from as the room would allow, and slowly came up to the Commander.

Cullen looked at him. “Are you all right?”

Lan froze. “What? Me? Yes. I’m just- I’m worried, Commander.”

“I am fine.”

Lan almost laughed in his face. “I know I have no idea what you’re going through, but that’s not the face of someone who’s fine. Shouldn’t you be sleeping still?”

“I don’t need coddling.” Cullen’s voice was suddenly sharp.

“I’m not coddling,” said Lan sullenly, feeling a slight blush to his cheeks. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t die alone hidden in your tower!” Harsher words than he’d intended, but Cullen looked contrite.

“I- apologize, Inquisitor. I know you’re trying to help.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I… I won’t be able to sleep any more. It’s useless for me to stay in bed, it only makes me restless. I need to occupy my mind.”

“Well… what do you normally do to keep busy?”

“Work.”

“Okay. What do you do when you’re not working?”

“Sleeping.”

“Commander, you’re not helping.” 

Lan’s eyes travelled around the room. It was cluttered and messy, but another wooden box caught his attention. He freed it from the mountain of discarded letters that were trying to swallow it. 

“How about a game?”

Cullen blinked at him. “I am not going to be a very good opponent, Inquisitor.”

“Good, maybe I’ll win then. Can we try at least? If you start to feel worse I’ll find something else.”

“...are you… what time is it? Shouldn’t you be going about your duties?”

Lan shrugged, opening up the box and taking out the little pieces. “It’s still early. I can spare some time. Hawke’s always late to meetings anyway. Where does that piece go, again?”

With a sigh, Cullen took the lion piece from Lan’s hand and put it on its square. 

Lan had forgotten almost all the rules, which seemed to at least amuse Cullen. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended that he still lost to a man fighting off a fever, an addled mind and shaky hands, but by the end of the first game Cullen had calmed down enough to start picking up pieces of fruits without even thinking about it. Lan did his best not to make it obvious he’d noticed. 

“Another round?”

“I’ve never seen someone so ready to get beaten,” said Cullen. 

“I can win. I just need practice!”

Cullen actually laughed. Lan felt a lot lighter.

“You… you really should go, Inquisitor. It is late enough.”

Sadly, Lan had to agree. He felt a little better knowing Cullen looked better than yesterday, but only two other people knew about his condition -Cassandra and, let’s face it, Leliana had to know too- and these two people would be stuck in meetings all day long with Lan. Nobody would be checking on the Commander, if only to make sure he hadn’t passed out at his desk.

An idea popped in his head as he entered the main hall, and he veered toward the rotunda for a last stop before starting his Inquisitorial day. Raised voices reached him as he climbed the stairs. Dorian’s, definitely, and… was that Mother Giselle? Lan ran the rest of the way up.

Neither of them noticed his arrival. They were facing each other on either side of Dorian’s writing table. The Mother sounded like an angry parent, but Dorian was clearly not having any of it.

“You glib tongue does you no credit,” admonished Mother Gisele. 

“You’d be surprised the credit my tongue gives me, your Reverence,” retorted Dorian. 

Lan took a step forward before she could reply. “Dorian?”

They both turned to him, and while Dorian’s demeanour did not change, the Mother’s seemed to mellow immediately. 

“Oh, your Worship...”

Lan’s eyes went from her to Dorian. “What’s happening?”

“It seems the revered mother is concerned about my undue influence over you.”

“Influence?” repeated Lan. “What influence?” 

“This man is of Tevinter,” said Mother Giselle plainly. “His presence at your side, the rumors alone…”

“What…” Lan’s mind had been so preoccupied with an entirely different problem that it took him a little while to understand what she meant. “Are you accusing him of… of spying? For Tevinter?” 

“You must know how this looks,” she said. “The people are concerned.”

“What people?” Warmth bled into his cheeks, this time in anger. “If they have a problem with Dorian they can tell me themselves.”

The heat in his voice seemed to take her aback. “I meant no disrespect. I simply meant to ask after this man’s intentions.”

“He doesn’t have to justify his presence to anyone. He has his own reason for being here and he deserves the same respect as everyone else. What are you trying to do, exactly? Annoy him into leaving?” 

“Lan. “ A hand touched his arm. 

Lan suddenly realized he’d advanced toward the Mother. She did not look threatened -nobody looked threatened faced with Lan’s small stature, she just looked nonplussed.

Dorian tugged gently on his arm to bring him back. 

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Just don’t… you don’t get to undermine people in this Inquisition without motives, Mother Giselle. And until you can provide me with proof, Dorian has not done anything to provoke you or anyone else. I don’t want rumors like that to spread through this castle. Dorian’s part of the Inquisition and he’s earned it, that’s all you need to know.”

She nodded. “I understand. If you think he is without ulterior motives, then I humbly apologize to you both.” She bowed, and left. 

Lan watched her disappear down the stairs, biting on his tongue to have something to do with the nervous energy coursing through him. 

“Well,” said Dorian. He released Lan’s arm. “That was something. What were you trying to do, exactly? I don’t want to insult you, but I am pretty certain she would win in a fist fight.”

“I wasn’t trying to fight her!” protested Lan. He wasn’t certain what he’d meant to do, but fight definitely was not it. He’d wanted to keep her attention on him instead of Dorian. “I just- I can’t believe she would just… what did she think? That you were manipulating me?”

“Something like that. I don’t know if you are aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.” 

“Intimate?” Lan’s voice had suddenly gone up several octaves. It didn’t escape Dorian, whose eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “That’s not… I mean I don’t… It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I don’t know. Does it?”

“I don’t know!” 

“What do you think?”

“Stop asking questions!” 

Dorian started laughing, which was not helping matters. Lan put his hands on his own cheeks, feeling their warmth.

“Maker’s breath… if those are the rumors, Fenris will have heard about it.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has,” said Dorian cheerily. “He’s probably boiling as we speak. Now, if he tries to kill me, am I allowed to be sarcastic while he does it or is it still off limits?”

“Stop it,” snapped Lan. “Look, it doesn’t… It’s doesn’t matter. I mean if you’re not bothered, then it doesn’t matter.”

“Why would I be bothered?” answered Dorian without missing a beat. “But it does make me wonder. Do you… feel like I have an undue influence over you?”

Lan stared at him, almost convinced he was joking. But Dorian had stopped laughing and looked quite serious -and very bothered.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, that’s succinct.”

“I don’t care what she or Fenris or anyone thinks, Dorian.”

“Really? You don’t care about what Fenris thinks?”

Lan frowned. “Don’t--”

“I’m teasing. Relax a little, Inquisitor.”

“It’s only funny to you,” grumbled Lan. His eyes slipped off Dorian’s amused face and settled on the window, sunlight streaming through, and he gasped. “Dorian! It’s late!”

“Somewhat,” said Dorian, raising an eyebrow. “Is someone waiting for you?”

“Yes! Lots of people. I came to ask you something! I… um.” Lan bit his lip. He was about to break the Commander’s trust, but then… what other choice did he have? “You’re friends with the Commander.”

“Maybe,” said Dorian, looking puzzled. “I don’t think we’ve put quite as strong a label on it.”

“He did. He said you were his friend.”

Dorian paused. “All right. What of it?”

“You’d help him if he needed it, right? Discreetly?”

Another pause. “You know about the lyrium.”

“ _ You _ know about the lyrium? How?!” 

“I don’t just  _ say _ I’m clever, I actually am,” said Dorian. “Is he okay?”

“No. Can you just… just check on him from time to time? Just make sure he’s... alive.”

Dorian watched him a moment. “I don’t want to put a halt to your altruism, but I do think he’s weathered that storm on his own before. Not that it pleases me to know he’s alone but I am unsure he’d appreciate my presence.”

“You didn’t see him last night,” said Lan with a frown. “He was in agony, Dorian, and it looks like it’s going to happen again. I can’t- I can’t leave him like this. I don’t care if he thinks it’s bad for his image, he’ll be free to feel ashamed all he wants once he’s feeling better.”

“Forceful altruism,” said Dorian, but he was smirking. “You are rather pushy when you want to be, aren’t you. I’ll keep an eye on our sickly Commander. Pinky promise. But if he gets angry, I will tell him it’s your idea.”

“Fine. Thank you!”

“Now go save the world, and try not to challenge another member of the Chantry to a brawl.”

“I was not going to fight her!” he shouted as he hurried down the stairs. “Thank you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> I hope all of you enjoy your holidays, whether you celebrate christmas or not!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has people talking about pretty intense abuse toward elven slaves. Be warned.

The brutal flow of work kept Lan in the war room until late in the evening. Darkness had inhaled the outside world by the time they ended the last meeting of the day. Lan watched everyone leave one by one, watched how the thin candlelight accentuated the pale angles and the dark hollows on their tired faces. 

He was about to leave himself when Cassandra called him back. They were the only ones left. 

“Something wrong?”

“Leliana went to visit the Commander earlier. She was greeted by the curious sight of a Tevinter mage reading one of Varric’s books and drinking tea.”

Lan smiled briefly. If Dorian was that relaxed, then Cullen was all right for now. “Did he say why he was there?”

Cassandra nodded. “You found out.”

“I stumbled onto it yesterday. It was-... scary. Cassandra, can it really kill him?”

“It can,” she said without preamble. “But he is determined.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since he left Kirkwall, but it was slow to become that bad. I believe he is going through the worst of it.”

“We have to be at Adamant in two weeks…”

“If he is not ready by then, I will take his place.”

Lan sighed. “I don’t know if I want him to be fine or not.”

“You want him to stay behind?”

“I want everyone to stay behind. I don’t want any of this.”

She seemed surprised by his admission. “Inquisitor, our men and women are ready to give their life.”

“That’s the problem, though.” He slowly uncurled his hand, looking at the Anchor. It was calm, nothing more than a scar. “I don’t believe in the Maker, Cassandra. The soldiers… my soldiers… they’re ready to die because they think I speak for Him.”

“Inquisitor…”

“No, I know,” he said quietly. “I know it’s necessary. I just can’t stop thinking about it. It feels wrong.”

Cassandra’s hand came on Lan’s shoulder. “If I stood before our soldiers today and declared you wanted to retire from Adamant, there would be an uprising. They do not follow you blindly, Inquisitor. They know you bleed, they know what is at stakes. They believe in more than divine fate.”

Lan covered her hand with his. “Everything is my responsibility here. Even things I didn’t choose.”

“I know it is a great burden,” Cassandra said. “I can only hope the others and I make it easier. But I have been with you from the start, I have seen what you can accomplish.  _ You _ . Not the Maker, not Andraste. Nobody wants this war, but it is here, and I know you understand that, even if you do not understand faith.”

Lan bit his lip to stop the tears he could feel rising to the surface. “I won’t fail you. I swear. Not a single person will die in vain.”

“We know.”

She said this with such conviction in her voice. Creators, Lan hoped he could keep his promise.

He felt heavy as he left. He intended to check briefly on Cullen one last time just to make sure he didn’t need something that Lan could provide. Instead he found the Commander’s quarters empty. 

Lan blinked at nothing, processing this. Where…? 

A piece of paper caught his eye. The note was written in a very neat hand, each letter carefully drawn and easy to decipher. 

_ ‘If you read this, then you haven’t stopped by the Herald’s Rest and seen us there. Our dear Commander wanted a change of scenery. He wants me to add that he’s perfectly fine and that your mother-henning tendencies are rubbing off on me. He’s only half right. I’ll let you decide which half. _

-Dorian.’

Lan breathed in relief and headed to the tavern. Contrary to what the note said, however, Dorian was not here. Fenris, Varric and Hawke were sitting with the Commander.

Hawke saw him and waved him over. “We were having a Kirkwall meeting,” she said cheerily. Lan suspected it wasn’t her first pint of-… whatever it was she was drinking. The Commander was the only one wisely sticking to tea.

“I’m not from Kirkwall,” Lan reminded them as Varric scooted on the bench to make space for him.

“Ah. It’s such a welcoming city,” said Hawke airily. “You’re allowed in. What do you drink?”

Lan stared at her an Varric chuckled. “The Inquisitor doesn’t do alcohol, Hawke.”

“Really? If I were in your position I wouldn’t stop drinking…”

He ended up with alcohol anyway, a disproportionately big tankard of something fruity. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it reminded him of the drink Dorian had bought him that one time in Haven. Perhaps he was too tired and raw, but that thought alone was enough to make him sentimental. He kept the drink despite Cullen’s offer to share his tea.

Hawke and Varric dominated the conversations while Fenris interjected from time to time, and Cullen merely laughed or scoffed at appropriate moments. From reading Varric’s book alone, Lan would not have expected camaraderie between Hawke and Cullen. Fenris, that was understandable. Varric had forgiven Cullen the moment the man had turned around and fought for Kirkwall. But Hawke in the book was always at odds with the knight-captain -and sometimes outright hostile. Lan knew that after the city had fallen, her and Cullen had been the only voices of authority left for a little while. It seemed to have brought them closer, replaced the animosity with whatever was necessary to survive and fight another day.

The tales of their past adventures flowed easily between the four of them, bringing laughter and companionship. Lan watched quietly, a smile on his lips but something like longing pulling at his heart. Hawke was so animated tonight. Every time she laughed, clear and loud, Fenris smiled.

“You should have seen it, Pointy,” said Varric, suddenly bringing Lan into the conversation. “He was drowning in an inch of water!”

“Poor Merrill nearly had a heart attack,” said Hawke fondly. “She really thought he was dead and we would have to explain to Cullen how and why one of his newest recruit had drowned in the middle of the very dry streets of Hightown.”

“Did he ever get punished for it?”

Cullen shrugged. “No, since you never told me what had happened to him. I assumed you had dragged him into something shady but, without any evidence…”

“We did not do anything shady,” said Fenris. “Well... not me. I am rather certain Isabela did something shady  _ with him _ before the night was over.”

“She did that to a lot of recruits,” said Cullen with a heavy sigh. 

“You?” asked Hawke, a glint in her eyes. 

“No! Of course not.”

“Why not? I have it on very good authority that she is rather incredible in bed.”

“I… heard,” said Cullen with a wince. “Soldiers talk a lot, even holy ones.”

The conversation continued, sometimes slowing, never stopping. The drinks kept coming ; even Lan finished his first and asked for a second. The longing pain in his heart had not disappeared, in fact it only seemed to grow.

As the night crawled on, Varric produced a deck of cards. 

“I don’t know how to play,” said Lan immediately. 

“I’ll explain,” said Varric. 

“Don’t let him explain,” warned Fenris.

“Why not?”

“Remember when you ‘taught’ me to play? You conveniently forgot to tell me half the rules then robbed me blind.”

“Then you do it.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, but he did turn to Lan and started explaining Wicked Grace. Lan listened carefully, doing his best to remember all the nuances. 

“Why do they make such complicated games?” he muttered as Fenris distributed the cards. 

“You’ll get the hang of it,” assured Cullen.

He didn’t. He lost, and fast. He watched the silvers he’d wagered disappear in Hawke’s pocket with a scowl. 

“I hate games.”

Fenris snorted. “You are terrible at this.”

“I’m not! You’re all cheating.”

“There is no need to cheat against you,” said Fenris. His smirk was annoying. 

“I hate this. Deal again.”

Fenris did, and this time Lan put all his focus into it. He did not lose first, but only because Hawke had started to slur her speech and wasn’t all that stable anymore. 

“Why?” he whined into his hands, not wanting to watch his coins being pulled toward Varric. He elbowed his drink and spilled it over some of his cards, but he was too sad to care a whole lot. He just ordered a new drink. 

“Because you absolutely suck at lying,” said Varric, helpfully producing a napkin to make up for Lan’s mess. 

“Completely,” agreed Fenris. 

“Also partly why I beat you at chess,” added Cullen.

“But there’s no bluffing in chess!”

“No, but it does help to see when you get frustrated. Or when you think you have a good move. Or when you--”

“Yes, all right, I get it,” Lan grumbled. 

Varric’s smirk was so big it threatened to leave the boundaries of his cheeks. “I’ve only seen you lie convincingly a few times, and it was with Orlesian nobility. Is it the masks? Next time we should all dress up and see if it works for you. With one of those big hats that get stuck in doorways!”

“I refuse,” said Fenris. 

Hawke sort of woke up and wrapped an arm around him. “I like you in hats.”

“I’ve never worn a hat.”

Alcohol and fatigue eventually caught up to them. Cullen retired first, then Varric who scooped up his winnings and winked at Lan before departing. Hawke, who was now folded over the table, mumbled something. Fenris had been rubbing circles on her back for a while.

“You are a mess,” he informed her.

“M’not,” she protested. “Lan, tell him m’fine.”

“You’re falling asleep,” Lan said. 

She groaned. “Nobody’s ever on my side.”

“I have always been on your side,” Fenris said. 

He said it casually, absentmindedly, as if it was an easy, mundane thing to say, but it made Lan pause. 

He watched Fenris get up and pull Hawke after him, letting her lean heavily against him as she articulated “good night” in Lan’s general direction. They left, Fenris whispering to Hawke something that made her giggle. And Lan was all alone in the tavern with nothing but a half-full tankard and empty pockets. 

The relationship between Hawke and Fenris was so… easy. Perhaps not all the time, after all Lan had heard both of them voice some concerns, but they were so comfortable with each other. Touches, kisses, hugs, laughs. Stories and memories. Shared without reserves, without thinking.

Lan’s eyes wandered around the room. Two elves were drunkenly kissing in the corner and he quickly looked elsewhere. He gripped his tankard and poured its content into his mouth, finishing it in just a few big gulps. The alcohol burned its way through his chest and into his stomach, which cramped angrily to remind him it had not seen food since this morning. Somewhere close by, a barmaid was telling a friend about her night with the Iron Bull.

When he finally stood, the entire world around him tilted dangerously. He stabilized himself on a chair, and then pondered his next move. He didn’t want to go to his room. He wanted-... What did he want? 

The taste of his fruity drink weighed on his tongue, and a shiny thought came to him through a haze, one bright light parting the fog. He wanted to see Dorian. 

Pushing himself off walls to correct his wobbly trajectory as needed, he managed to reach the man’s room without too much fuss. The door opened at the first knock. 

“Inquisitor?” greeted Dorian, puzzled. “Did something happen?”

Lan shook his head, but had to stop quickly as the room spun around him. “I wanted to thank you for the... Cullen… thing.”

“Oh, it’s all right. I was helping a friend. I was hoping to get a drink with him, but we bumped into Fenris…”

“Yeaaah... He was there. With Hawke and Varric too! It was all Kirkwall.”

“Ah.” Dorian narrowed his eyes a little. “You smell of alcohol.”

“I drank one.”

“One?”

“Yes.”

“You drank one alcohol.”

“Well I dunno the  _ name _ ,” Lan said. “It was just a big…” He pulled his hands apart, at what looked like the appropriate size. “This. I spilled a little too. I soaked my cards.” 

“What cards?”

“They taught me Wicked Grace. I’m not good at it because I can’t lie. They have to wear a hat.”

“I see.” 

Lan blinked at him. Everything was a bit fuzzy, a bit too colorful. “What do you see?”

“That you had some stupid fun for once, it’s good for you.” 

“I have fun with you.”

“Uh huh. You’re going cross-eyed, Lan.” Dorian pulled him inside. “Really not used to alcohol, are you.”

“No. I had a hangover once. I was sad. You weren’t there.”

“When did you-… never mind.” Dorian forced a glass of water into his hand. “That’s a tale for another time, when you’re not seeing two of me.”

“I think I liked it. I wanted to try it because I wanted to try.”

“That does clear things up.”

“It does? Dorian, I can’t stop talking.”

“So I see. You’re a chatty drunk, it happens.” Dorian swung Lan’s legs up on the bed and started undoing the laces of his boots. He pulled them off and Lan curled his toes. 

“Feet are cold.”

“Feet are going under the blanket in a minute.”

“This is not my bed.”

“You are as sharp as ever.” Dorian took the empty glass from Lan’s hand. “I don’t trust you not to wander the halls like a lost ghost and say things you might regret to everyone you meet. You are going to go to sleep right here, right now, to spare you tomorrow’s embarrassment.”

“Dorian. We’re not intimate, right?”

“No.” He pushed Lan down into the bed and pulled warm covers over him. “But thank you for proving my point.”

“But people think we are.”

“Sleep, Lan. And if you throw up on my bed I will make you clean it, Inquisitor or not.”

“‘Cause I was thinking, I don’t know what that really means.”

“Please stop talking.”

“I mean I know but I don’t  _ know _ . You know?”

“Lan.”

“But Dorian. Dorian.  _ Dorian _ .” Lan grabbed Dorian’s hand to get his attention, even though the man was already looking right at him. “People are so happy when they talk about sex. I don’t know  _ why _ . Is it that nice?”

“Lan, I swear to Andraste…”

“D’you think I should try?”

“No.”

“S’it too hard?”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. Lan belatedly realized he was being a nuisance and curled up on his side, arms hugging his middle and legs folded against his chest. 

“Sorry…”

Dorian sighed. “You’re fine. If you were anyone else right now, I would be making merciless fun of you.” 

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that you are you, and not anyone else.” His long fingers found Lan’s hair and started gently untangling knots. “Did nobody in your merry band find the time to get you safely to your quarters after they got your drunk?”

“Dunno. It was nice,” mumbled Lan sleepily. “They were nice.”

“I’m sure they were.”

“I wish you’d been there too. You would’ve had fun.”

“Somehow, I doubt it.”

Lan closed his eyes and touched his forehead to Dorian’s thigh. Then he fell asleep.

* * *

This hangover was less painful than his very first one -at least physically. 

Mentally, it was on a whole other level. 

Lan woke up before Dorian, who for once had refused to give up his bed entirely. Lan was small enough and the bed just wide enough that it wasn’t too tight a squeeze, but now he was stuck between Dorian’s back and the wall.

His memories from last night were hazy, but they were there, in all their stupid glory. He’d been drunk enough to make an ass of himself without the benefit of forgetting about it. 

Grimacing at the horrible taste in his mouth and the smell of alcohol still clinging to his clothes, he pushed himself up. Lan’s only option was to spider-crawl over the Dorian, slow and careful not to jostle him. The last thing he wanted was to wake him and inconvenience him even more.

He borrowed Dorian’s jug of water, hoping the cold liquid would bring him some composure. It didn’t really, but it helped with the headache. With a last glance at Dorian, dead to the world, Lan left and hurried to his own room before the castle could wake up. 

* * *

He was busy until mid-afternoon. That was when he bumped into Fenris, who looked right as rain despite having drunk quite a lot last night.

“How’s Hawke?” 

“Busy trying to convince herself her hangover is not that bad,” answered Fenris. “It has been a very long while since we had the time to sit and drink with people. The last year has been… lonely.”

Lan could imagine. “She likes being around people.”

“She does,” said Fenris with a nod. “I am accustomed to loneliness, but she never had the experience until pretty recently.”

“At least you were with her. She wasn’t completely lonely.”

“I am not delusional enough to believe my sole presence is enough to fulfill her every needs.”

“What? She loves you.”

“That is not enough either,” said Fenris with a shrug. “Some things simply cannot be mended. Perhaps they are meant to stay broken.”

“Wow. And Varric says I’m pessimistic…”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m wrong?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know Hawke very well. But I know she worries about you. And… I don’t know a lot about that either but… she loves you, and maybe some things are meant to stay broken, but she seems to think it’s easier to deal with it when you’re together.”

There was a short silence. “Did she tell you she was worried about me?”

“Um… ” Lan winced. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to tell you. But maybe, a little bit, once, yes.”

Fenris thinned his lips. His ears twitched briefly, a show of emotion that did not translate to his face.

“Did something happen to your Tevinter last night?” he asked suddenly.

“What…?”

“He was glaring at me more than usual this morning.”

“I-... I didn’t… I don’t know.”

Fenris cocked his head to the side. “You are flustered.”

“I’m not!” squeaked Lan.

“Hmmm.” 

His cheeks were warming up alarmingly fast. Shit. Fenris was getting the wrong idea.

“I’m not sleeping with him!”

Fenris blinked, slowly. “I did not ask.”

“You were thinking it!”

“Maybe.”

“Well- well stop thinking it!”

“I have heard rumors,” Fenris continued, unbothered.

“They’re not true!” Spluttering like a cat who’s just been dunked in water, Lan turned on his heels. “I-I have things to do. A lot of things.”

“Lan.”

Lan glanced over his shoulder, cringing. “What?”

“I do not care who you choose to sleep with. As long as you… choose.” Fenris let a silence pass. “You do understand what I am talking about?”

“No,” admitted Lan. “I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

“If that is your wish, you should make sure everyone respects it. Even him.”

Lan stared at his brother. “What are you... “ A slow realization came upon him, and horror immediately curdled in his stomach. “Fenris!”

“I am simply making sure.”

“You can’t-- are you accusing Dorian of- no.” Lan shook his head sharply. “I can’t even think--...”

“Calm down. I am not accusing him of anything-... yet. His ilk is used to taking without asking, Lan. You should never forget where he comes from.”

“You can’t accuse him of… of taking advantage of me just because he’s Tevinter!”

“Past experience has taught me that I can.”

“Stop it!” Lan cried out.

The exact meaning behind Fenris’ words sunk in a second later. Lan’s eyes widened, and everything inside him sunk.

“You?” he asked in a breath.

Fenris did not answer that question. “I know you trust him. But he has spent most of his life with people who picked elves up like they are enticing fruits.”

“Oh. No, Fenris. No...” 

“I am not trying to make you uncomfortable,” said Fenris calmly. 

“You’re not… you’re not…” Lan’s breathing was becoming labored. There were flashes in his mind. He stumbled. 

> _ ’What happened? Why did he want you alone?’ _
> 
> _ ‘Nothing happened. Go to sleep.’ _
> 
> _ ‘But-’ _
> 
> _ ‘I said go to sleep! Shut up!’ _
> 
> _ ‘You’re hurt…’ _
> 
> _ A hand pushes him harshly.  _
> 
> _ ‘Don’t talk to me.’ _
> 
> _ He’s not stupid. He knows what happens when the Master calls someone to his bedroom late at night. He just needs to ask, to acknowledge the smallest spark of hope. But hope is useless here, and it is cruel that his heart can’t let go of it. _
> 
> _ A wave of sadness engulfs him, so deep and so cutting that it feels like dying. He has to push it down so he can breathe again, and anger takes its place, filling the void it leaves behind. Anger was better. Anger was action when sadness was apathy. _
> 
> _ ‘I’m going to kill him.’ _
> 
> _ A snort answers him. ‘Sure.’ _
> 
> _ ‘I will. One day, I’ll kill him.’ _
> 
> _ ‘You’ll only kill yourself. Don’t you dare do something stupid and leave me alone.’ _
> 
> _ The words slow his anger, but it does not disappear. It burns.  _

“Lan.”

He blinked. 

He was sitting on the steps to the battlements. Fenris was crouched before him.

“Are you… all right?” 

Lan shook his head. No, he wasn’t all right. He reached out without thinking. His fingers had barely brushed Fenris’ skin that his brother flinched back and Lan froze, hand hanging uselessly in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“It’s not important,” said Fenris. “It does not hurt much.”

“No. I don’t know who it was.” Lan pulled his hand back and wrapped both arms around himself. “I forgot. I knew and I forgot.”

“Lan…” Fenris’ eyes were so sad. Lan only felt worse. 

“It’s not me,” he mumbled. “There was someone- I can’t remember their face-- they went away and they came back and they were hurt--”

“A memory?”

Lan gave a jerk of his head. “I don’t remember who it was…”

“But it is a memory from Tevinter.” Fenris sighed. “I did not want to… trigger anything. But you understand my caution.”

“Fenris?”

Lan startled, looking up at Hawke who suddenly appeared behind Fenris. Her eyebrows pulled together when she saw the scene. 

“Cole said you needed me... What happened?”

“He remembered something upsetting.” Fenris was quick to stand and let Hawke take his place on the steps.

“Oh, Maker…” she said softly, crouching before Lan. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just... “

“It’s all right.” She took his hand. His heart rate slowed as he clutched her fingers. “Take the time you need.”

She glanced at Fenris in a silent question, to which he answered with a shrug. Lan tried to control himself. 

“I’m sorry for what happened, Fenris. I’m so sorry. But Dorian… he can’t… please, don’t accuse him of that. Please.”

Fenris stood a moment, still, before shaking his head. 

“I gave you my warning. You know to find me if anything happens.” And with that, he turned around and walked away. 

Hawke looked back at Lan. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I remembered someone… they got-- hurt. I don’t know who it was. It wasn’t me.” Her hand squeezed his. Her fingers were calloused, her skin roughened by battle and labor. He felt scars. “But maybe I forgot about that too,” he whispered.

“Okay. All right.” She released his hand, but sat by his side on the steps. She was blissfully warm next to him. “It’s going to be all right. You’re not back there anymore. Whatever happened to you, whatever you forgot… it has no hold on you right here, right now.”

“It does on Fenris. I-I understand why he doesn’t trust Dorian, but… I can’t...”

“Lan… You have to keep in mind we still haven’t met a single person from Tevinter who was not crazy or bent on destroying him.”

He glanced at her. “You don’t trust Dorian either.”

“I-- honestly don’t know if I do. But Fenris is just trying to protect you.”

Lan’s hands were twisting together in his lap. “Is he… is he all right?”

“Nobody is all right around here. But he’s survived this far and he has no intention of stopping now. He’s scared you’re going to take the opposite journey. He’s scared you’ll end up like he used to be if you’re not careful.”

“How did he used to be?”

“Hurting. Angry at himself. Unable to move on. His past has haunted him for so long, it still clings to him. I think he simply doesn’t want it to become your present. He knows how hard and painful it is to fight through this.”

_ Some things are meant to stay broken _ . Lan shook his head, clasping his hands together in an attempt at stilling them. 

“You should be with him. I’m fine.”

“Are you? I’ll go find him, but promise me you’ll find someone else. Don’t stay alone.”

He promised. She left quickly, worried for Fenris. Lan allowed himself a moment of isolation before forcing himself to move. 

His body felt stiff and foreign as he walked to the library. Solas was here alone, and asked Lan if he was all right, but his attention felt like an attack, his gaze like ice needles stabbing into Lan’s skin. Lan didn’t answer, he just left.

He found his target in Josephine’s office instead. Dorian was wearing a nice white outfit, a snake embroidered in the cape. The symbol of Tevinter.

“Inquisitor!” greeted Josephine brightly, but her expression fell when she saw his face. “Are you all right?”

Lan cleared his throat. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“We’re done anyway,” said Dorian. “Did you need Lady Montilyet, or…?” Lan bit his lips, silent. Dorian exchanged a glance with Josephine. 

“I have to talk to Leliana,” declared the Ambassador as she stood. 

She closed the door behind her. As soon as they were alone, Lan dove for Dorian and wrapped him in a hug.

“All right,” said Dorian with a slight start. “Did something happen or am I just a lot more huggable than I ever realized?”

“Something happened.”

“Can I help?”

You are, thought Lan. He had no idea how to find the right words to describe this memory and the weight it had placed on his heart, or the crushing desire to do something,  _ anything,  _ for Fenris. 

Dorian didn’t ask anything else, simply returning the hug and letting the silence wrap around them. Hawke’s touch had been comforting but Dorian’s had a soothing strength that Lan couldn’t explain. He was pressed so close against Dorian, the man had to feel the way Lan’s heart was hammering in his chest. 

“Sorry,” Lan said. There was so much guilt bubbling inside him, it didn’t matter much what he was apologizing for in the end. Anything. Everything. 

“There is only one thing I know you can apologize for, and that is for disappearing this morning without a word,” said Dorian. 

Lan let his forehead rest on Dorian’s chest. “I said stupid things last night.”

“Yes, but it was entertaining. I asked Varric, by the way, he told me how much you had. You’re an incredible lightweight.”

“Alcohol doesn’t like me...”

“Next time, just go with the tea. Ah, Varric also told me you lost quite a bit of money.”

“... maybe…”

“I could teach you a few strategies, if you want.”

“I’m not good at games, Dorian.”

“My strategies will make you reconsider.”

Lan frowned. “Are you going to teach me to cheat?”

“Here’s a secret, Inquisitor : everyone cheats.”

Lan laughed softly, but when Dorian tried to pull away, he grabbed the man’s hand. 

“Can you stay? A little bit?” 

“Whatever you need,” said Dorian, softly.

Lan flexed his hand around Dorian’s. He wanted to cry.

“Can I ask a question, Dorian?”

“I won’t stop you.”

“Your family has slaves.”

There was a pause. Lan didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on their linked hands. 

“That wasn’t a question,” pointed out Dorian. “And you already know the answer. My parents do. They’ve always been treated with care.”

Lan nodded. He  _ had  _ known the answer. For a very long time. 

“Did you ever-... you’ve never-... hurt… them…?”

“What? Maker, Lan.” Dorian took a step back, breaking contact. With him went all the warmth. Everything was too much again. “I have never abused a slave. I have never abused anyone, for crying out loud!”

Lan flinched at the sudden rise in volume. Dorian immediately looked contrite and stepped closer again, his hands hovering over Lan’s skin without quite touching him. 

“It’s just- I’m frustrated you had to ask. You spend one evening with Fenris and suddenly that’s what you ask me? Did I do something to offend you?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Lan said. 

“Except coming from Tevinter,” Dorian finished, a touch of resentment in his voice. “I thought you did not care.”

Lan felt even more miserable. But he was not finished, and now he had to ask.

“Do you know anyone who didn’t treat their slaves well?”

“A few,” said Dorian slowly. “I’ve always been careful to choose who I associated with. Not that I always succeeded, but I didn’t  _ want  _ anything to do with these people.”

“You can’t stop it.”

“Me? Myself? No. I wouldn’t even know how to start, not now and certainly not when I was younger and forced to make small talk with these people.” 

Fenris was right, still. Dorian had been raised among these people. And perhaps that was all it took, that was what meant the two of them couldn’t be friends -they couldn’t be anything.

Dorian’s fingers were suddenly on his cheek, brushing tears away. Lan was so numb he had not felt them fall.

“Lan? Why are you asking this?” Dorian’s voice was a lot softer. His forehead was creased in deep worried lines, all traces of his anger or frustration completely gone as he seemed to have understood the reason Lan was in this state to begin with. “Did you remember something from your past?”

Lan nodded. The details stayed stuck in his throat. Dorian made a little noise, like an aborted attempt at speaking, words dissolving on his tongue. He took a deep breath before trying again.

“I don’t know if this brings you any peace or not, but I truly never appreciated nor participated in any act of cruelty... Lan…”

The sadness in his voice made Lan cringe. He didn’t need sadness. He needed Dorian to stay and hold him. Talk to him about Wicked Grace until Lan could breathe again. Let him think about something else. Anything else. He didn’t want to forget that memory but he couldn’t bear to have it glare at him with so much force ; he wanted to blunt its edges, and he wanted to feel safe. He wanted to know, to be allowed to stay with Dorian without his past running at him, screaming, vomiting its horrors on him. 

What would that nameless, faceless figure in his past think of him talking to a Tevinter? Of him being friends with someone who once drank wine with the very people who were responsible for their torment? 

“Please talk to me…” he asked in a whimper.

“Talk-… of course. What about?”

“Anything. Teach me to cheat at cards.”

Dorian’s hand slipped out of Lan’s and came on his back instead. “Come with me.”

A few minutes later, Lan was sitting on Dorian’s bed, feeling the soft blanket under his naked toes. He had cards in hand and Dorian was sitting right next to him, pointing and gesturing and talking about something as silly as a card game. 

Ever so slowly, Lan found himself able to breathe a little easier. 

He trusted Hawke to take care of Fenris. Perhaps they were doing the same thing right now, trying to overpower the horrible memories with something softer and warmer. Lan let himself fall against Dorian, his head on the man’s shoulder as he kept talking, and felt the weight drop off his chest. 

The voice stopped. Lan opened his eyes and looked up, and found Dorian looking down at him with something in his eyes that was maybe sad, maybe happy, maybe somewhere in-between or neither. It was not a good look on Dorian’s face, it left creases and dark spots where Lan did not like to see them. Impulsively, he turned his face up, and kissed Dorian on the lips.

For the slightest second Dorian stiffened, and Lan panicked. But before his heart could drop, Dorian pushed himself closer and wrestled the control away from Lan. Good thing, as Lan had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t even know why he’d just decided to do that. It had felt like someone else’s idea worming its way into his brain. In the blink of an eye it had made itself at home and buried its tendrils deep into Lan, claimed him as its own.

Dorian opened his mouth. Lan responded in kind. He felt Dorian’s hand on his cheek, cradling his face gently, and he pressed himself against him, soaking up the warmth and the safety, the smell of old books and warm leather, the gentle caress of a tongue against his lips.

Then the kiss stopped. Lan looked into Dorian’s eyes, and saw that look again, the one he didn’t know if it was happy or sad. He wanted to kiss him again, see if it would make it go away.

“So,” said Dorian in a whisper. They were still so close to each other. “You weren’t listening to me at all, were you. You were just admiring the view.”

“I’m listening.”

“You truly are a terrible liar.”

Lan chuckled, and Dorian pulled himself away, returning to his place on the bed. Lan leaned his back against the wall. He burrowed his feet deeper in the pelt.

“Are you all right with this?” Dorian asked. 

“I started it,” Lan pointed out. 

“I know. I’m only making sure. This is… unusual.”

“Coming from me?”

“Coming from anyone, frankly. First time in my life I’ve been kissed by an Inquisitor while explaining to them how to cheat and rob their friends. But maybe a little bit more from you. Especially after we just talked about-… well, about what we just talked about.”

There was a second of breathless hesitation, then Lan let himself fall against Dorian’s side and rested his head on the man’s shoulder once more. He thought he should be more unsure, more awkward, maybe stuttering and fumbling through an explication like he always did. But he wasn’t. He felt steady, or at least steadier than he’d been in a while.

“Please, keep talking. I promise I’m listening. I like your voice.”

“It is an amazing voice, isn’t it?” said Dorian before swiftly picking up where he left off, easily giving up on looking further into Lan’s motivations.

Lan was listening. Not to the words, but to the voice. He closed his eyes, sending a short prayer for the faceless figure in his memory. In any shape, in any way, he hoped with all his heart that they had found peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The life of an elven slave in Tevinter truly is terrifying, and one day Dorian will stop being so defensive about it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Dorian interlude.

Five things Dorian had learned about the Herald of Andraste since joining the Inquisition :

One, his first impression in Redcliffe of a weak little elf too frail to face this ruthless world had been wrong. Lan was strong. Stronger than a lot of people realized.

He showed weakness only because he had not learned how to hide it like everyone else. Life kept throwing shit at him and still he soldiered on. If Lan lost his legs tomorrow, he would crawl toward Corypheus, and bite that fucker’s shins off. It was more than what Dorian would do ; his preferred method of coping with personal disasters was to drop everything and throw himself a pity party. He was good at these. Lan had pulled him out of a few of them.

Two : Lan absolutely, completely, unequivocally hated his own bedroom. Why? Who knew -certainly not Lan himself, Dorian was pretty sure of that. Introspection just wasn’t his thing. Lan acted on instincts, following needs and rewards. He simply did not _have_ any ulterior motive, was not a scheming person in the slightest.

He had secrets, of course, but not mentioning something to protect oneself was not the same as deliberately lying to further one’s own interests. It was a novel idea for someone like Dorian, who had been raised to believe everyone was two-faced and trust eventually led to a knife in between your shoulder blades.

After that one drunken evening, Lan started showing up at his door every night. Which led Dorian to the third item on this list :

Lan’s trust had been easily won, and even easier to keep -and that made little sense. He hadn’t done anything for Lan. In fact, he’d mostly been a hindrance. Pushing him until he set himself on fire, abandoning him while an archdemon loomed over him, been a prick about the Fenris situation -then forced Lan to witness his own difficult family reunion. His mere presence was a stain on the Inquisition’s reputation. And given Lan’s past, everything Dorian was should have terrified him.

Not that Dorian would apologize for where he came from or who he was, but he did understand Fenris’ animosity -it was over the top, pig-headed, and absolutely unfair, but understandable. But Fenris had nothing to fear from him. Lan, on the other hand, regularly bared himself to Dorian, letting him magically play around with what was essentially his weak spot.

And yet, Lan only ever reacted to Dorian as if the mere fact that he was not treating him like he was lesser was enough to warrant deference. Well, Lan treated everyone who showed him an ounce of kindness like they had been touched by the Maker themselves, but Dorian was not blind. It was his bedroom that Lan chose every night, not anyone else's.

However, here came item number four : sex was not a thing for Lan. As far as Dorian was concerned, anyway.

Dorian did not mind, exactly. Letting Lan rest in his bed and accepting a few stolen kisses was the least he could do. If Lan responded to anything, it was physical comfort, and while Dorian had never thought of himself as being particularly touchy-feely, he had to admit that he did not hate it.

A typical night with the Inquisitor in his room went like this : Lan asked meekly if he could come in, as if Dorian had ever refused before ; then he got rid of most of his clothes, keeping enough to hide the shameful tattoos, and slipped under the covers. He always stopped for a kiss first, more often than not hugged Dorian too, sometimes discussed difficult meetings and asked for Dorian’s opinion.

Nothing more. Not even a suggestion of something more. Which was confusing… and frustrating.

Dorian had never proclaimed to be a saint -he’d rather loudly proclaimed the exact opposite to a lot of people and even to his own father. He made no secret that he was confident in his beauty and abilities. Yet every time, Dorian had let Lan in honestly expecting some kind of request, and wondering if he was going to accept.

And every time, nothing came.

Quite literally.

At first, Dorian had wondered if Lan was taking it slow because he was unsure. But he’d quickly realized that the possibility simply was not entering Lan’s mind. That one time he had drunkenly asked about it had only been intellectual curiosity. He was not actually interested.

… Why? After all, Lan enjoyed languorous kisses well enough, and the closer their two bodies were, the happier he was. 

Asking the elf head-on seemed ill advised, if only because Dorian wasn’t sure how he would react if Lan shut him down.  _He’d_ thought about it. Sleeping in a small bed against a warm body did put ideas in your head, and it had not escaped him that the Inquisitor was attractive. People noticed Fenris immediately, but overlooked Lan despite their resemblance because of his size. 

But he was handsome. His features were delicate, his jaw had a nice angle, his eyes were an unusual shade of green. And seeing him half naked or in thin clothes had not done anything to change Dorian’s mind either -yes, he was small, thin, and scarred in more places than Dorian had the heart to count. The lyrium traced distorted shapes that did not really help either. But something about his body still called to Dorian. The warmth of his skin, perhaps, or his long and slender fingers. The way his emotions showed on his face, crystal clear, like he felt too much and too powerfully to keep it all inside.

However, Dorian had reached the pretty sure conclusion that Lan had no other reaction to sleeping in close quarters with someone else -even someone as physically gifted as Dorian- than simple comfort. Which would mean the spending time with Dorian was enough to bring him comfort. And that… was something Dorian had to force himself not to think about lest he stopped opening his door every time he heard that timid knock.

In a way, he was relieved. He’d had fun with men in power before, but bedding the Inquisitor himself might not be the best course of action. The rumors about them weren’t kind but they were only rumors. Dorian did not want to provide proof. Lan didn’t deserve that sort of scorn. It was actually pretty lucky that he hated his own bedroom so much as Dorian’s was much easier to access without anyone noticing.

The fifth and last item on this list was beautifully illustrated on the morning of their leaving for Adamant by Lan sitting on the rug, legs crossed, green eyes watching Dorian blink himself awake.

“Lan…” grumbled Dorian. He’d never been good with mornings, and having someone who was so wide awake so early staring at him was the worst.

Lan barely slept. A few hours a night was all it took for him to be up and running. Even when he seemed dead on his feet, he would pop up fresh as a daisy four hours later, usually watching as Dorian slowly and laboriously woke up.

“Hi,” said Lan that morning. He had put his clothes back on already and had a plate next to him displaying slices of bread suffocating under generous amounts of jam. He pushed himself off the floor and sat on the bed instead, right at Dorian’s side, and held out the plate to him. “I’ve had time to get breakfast.”

Breakfast in bed? _Kaffas_ , this was getting ridiculously domestic and they’re not even… they were not anything. Dorian was a distraction for the Inquisitor’s stressed-out mind. He had been one before, they just usually involved less hugging and more fucking. What Lan was doing was a new (and, yes, confusing) twist on a familiar story.

“Andraste…” swore Dorian under his breath.

Lan looked down at the bread. “What? Do you see her face in there?”

The non-sequitur had the merit of pulling Dorian out of his inner panic. “What?”

“Sorry. I talked to a Lord the other day who spent half an hour telling me Andraste’s face had appeared into a pastry after he took a bite out of it. He kept it.”

“Again… What?”

“He prays to it every morning.”

“Such a pious man.”

“Well, I’m not, but still. I’d rather not eat the Maker’s bride.”

“No. No bride in here, Maker’s of anyone else’s. Did you make all this yourself?”

“Yes. I thought you might need something, before we leave.”

Dorian looked at the toasts a moment more, before sitting up and grabbing one. Lan smiled at him, and Dorian wondered what in the world was happening. Yet here he was, eating the damn breakfast in bed, next to the Inquisitor. 

 _No ulterior motive_ , he reminded himself. Dorian might be hungry and they had a long day ahead of them, so why not bring him breakfast in bed. Lan did not grasp the meaning of this gesture, what Dorian, or anyone who’d ever thought about relationships before, could see in it.

… Well. He owed it to Lan to play along.

Really, he was quite happy to be a simple distraction. As long as nobody found out, as long as they were careful, there was no reason to fret.

* * *

The journey to the Western Approach was nothing if not absolutely miserable.

The mood was appropriately somber. Barely a word was spoken. They had little time to reach Adamant before everything kicked off, which meant little time to rest at all.

Fenris and Hawke kept their distances, spending more time together or with Varric than anywhere near Lan. Dorian, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to put too much distance between them. The first night they'd spent in their respective tents was their first lonely night in over a week. You did get used to someone’s presence.

Lan was a tomb. He mostly communicated through grunts and curt nods. He barely touched the gruel they were served at meal times. With every step toward Adamant, Dorian could see colors drain from his entire being. And one evening, he simply disappeared.

Dorian looked around, even risking asking Hawke and Fenris, but all he could gather was that the Inquisitor had gone to talk with Vivienne, which was odd enough.

He kept searching and eventually noticed a strange green-ish glow coming from behind a wall of rocks. He ran to it, his pessimistic mind already imagining the worst, but what he discovered was far from anything he could have imagined.

Nestled in the middle of a rock formation was a small lake, perfectly hidden from the Inquisition’s camp. And standing on either side of it, Lan and the First Enchanter were facing each other and were… doing something with barriers.

The green glow was coming from Vivienne’s, very faint despite the power Dorian could feel dripping from it. Lan’s, as usual, was completely transparent, but the force behind it was making every hair on Dorian’s body stand up.

Back at Skyhold, the Inquisitor sometimes sparred with other mages, although “spar” was a big word. Lan’s aversion for offensive magic and his refusal to harm an ally, even when given permission, made for uneventful fights -that and his lack of fancy-looking magic meant it never attracted a lot of attention.

When sparring against Dorian, it got a little more eyes watching, as he quite liked teasing the Inquisitor with tricks which had absolutely no purpose except look bright enough to distract. Dorian was eternally amused at how easy it was to dazzle Lan.

This, tonight, was not made for show. The two barriers were pushing against each other, and the two mages were putting everything they had into it.

The air around them was charged with unusual amounts of energy. It was entirely silent, except when sparks of arcane power appeared at the point where the two barriers touched. The back of Dorian’s eyeballs felt like it was starting to boil. Vivienne and Lan were both intensely focused.

The barriers were in a stalemate, matched in power, and the two magical signatures were heating up against each other, repulsed by each other but forced onward by their casters. Lan’s face was pulled into a frown, his body tensed in concentration. Not for the first time, Dorian noticed how formidable the elf could be.

A sudden power surge, and Lan’s barrier gained some ground against Vivienne’s. The friction between the two was making the air around them thick with heat and smell like burning. With a final push, there was an audible pop, and Vivienne’s barrier vanished. Lan’s expanded and enveloped her.

For the briefest moment, Dorian thought he’d seen the blue glow of the tattoos peek out from under Lan’s clothes. It was gone in a blink, if it had been here at all, and no one else reacted to it.

Barely out of breath, Lan let his barrier recede. Vivienne, obviously tired but trying to hide it, examined him with calculating eyes.

“I do not know what you expected to learn from me, my dear Inquisitor.”

“But… Were you putting everything in this barrier?”

“I was.”

Lan stared at her. “Really?”

“I can admit when I am beaten. Where did you learn this?”

“I- uh…” Lan floundered. “Here and there.”

“You do not learn something like _that_ ‘here and there’, dear. I will understand if it is a secret you don’t wish to tell, but please, do not lie to me.”

Lan winced at the rebuke. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Such power…” Vivienne’s curiosity was piqued. Her face didn’t betray her thoughts, but her tone was a little too carefully controlled. “Being a Knight Enchanter does not happen overnight, but all my years of training couldn’t break through your defenses.”

“I-- err…I really thought you’d be the stronger one.”

“How can you not know the power you possess? Are you not tired after such a spectacle?”

Dorian recognized the path she was taking. He stepped out of hiding.

“Inquisitor!” he called, startling them both. “Everyone at camp is looking for you. They are starting to worry.”

“Oh… sorry. I just, um…” Lan glanced at Vivienne, who looked at Dorian with eyes that clearly said she was aware of what he was doing.

“First Enchanter,” greeted Dorian genially.

“Lord Pavus.” She arranged her robes. “I think I am going to go back to camp and reassure everyone before they organize a search party. Do not worry about a thing, darling,” she added toward Lan, “I won’t tell your secret. And if you ever want to try again, I am at your disposal.”

And she strolled away. Lan watched her go, then looked over at Dorian.

“I wouldn’t take her offer,” said Dorian. “She’ll probably use any training session as an occasion to study you.”

“Really? Wow. Nobody ever did that to me before. That would be a bit wrong, wouldn’t it?”

Longest string of words Dorian had heard from him in days. The fight had loosened the knots under his skin, adrenaline and earned fatigue had lightened his mood.

Dorian clicked his tongue. “Sarcasm is an art and you have not mastered it, Inquisitor.”

Lan grinned. He planted his staff into the mud and flexed his fingers around the Anchor like he was trying to get rid of a cramp.

“You saw what we were doing?”

“The end, yes. I don’t understand why it happened, however.”

“I asked her to help me out.”

“With barriers? You know yours are special.”

“But she’s a powerful Knight Enchanter! I don’t even know where my barriers come from, I thought she’d be able to break them, that she could teach me how to improve them and point out mistakes. It’s the one thing I know how to do consistently, Dorian. And Adamant is around the corner.”

If the fight had brought some life back into him, turning his thoughts back to Adamant and its dark corners dulled the light in his eyes. He rubbed his left arm, lightly at first but it quickly grew into the kind of feverish scratching Dorian had learned to watch out for. He took Lan’s hand before he could gouge out his flesh with his own fingernails and held it, keeping it away from his body.

“Lan… You are neck and shoulders above the bloody Knight Enchanter, you cannot possibly think it’s not enough.”

“I don’t know. I hoped it could be more. But if even Vivienne can’t teach me anything… I want to be ready -I want to be _more_.”

Right. Tonight more than ever, that elf needed a distraction. Dorian glanced around, making sure there was nobody around.

“It was amazing to watch.”

“Was it? It’s just barriers, they don’t look like much.”

“Maybe not for the eye. But everywhere else…”

Dorian closed the gap between them and pulled the Inquisitor into a deep kiss. Lan immediately relaxed and slipped his arms around Dorian’s waist. His body was bony as always and uncomfortably warm, but tremors still ran underneath his skin and Dorian would not to break the kiss until they’d disappeared.

They parted, an unknowable amount of time later. Elven eyes sparkling unnaturally in the moonlight, Lan blinked slowly, dazed. His skin was dried by the day’s heat, there was sand both in his hair and sticking to a light film of sweat on his face, and smudges of dirt everywhere on his person. But his cracked lips stretched into a shy smile, and warmth exploded in Dorian’s chest, intense, almost painful.

He closed his eyes and gently pushed the Inquisitor back. It wasn’t a hard push at all, only meant to guide Lan one step back, but it caught him by surprise. He stumbled backward and lost his footing. With a cry, he landed on his rear in the shallows of the lake.

“Dorian! What!” he spluttered.

Dorian brought a hand to his mouth to avoid laughing.

“Well, you _are_ filthy. It can’t hurt you.” Lan only scowled. “I just didn’t expect you to fall over!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m tired,” grumbled Lan, and Dorian felt a lot less amused.

He trudged into the water, letting his own filthy clothes soak it up without a care.

“I apologize.” He offered a hand, which Lan took. Dorian barely caught the twitch of the elf's lips before he felt the harsh pull. Thrown off balance, he stumbled over Lan’s sprawled legs and landed on all fours in the water.

Lan didn’t even try to hide his laughter. It rang against the rocks and came back to Dorian as a light and pleasant music.

“You’re not sparkly clean either, you know,” Lan said as he dragged himself back to the shore. 

There he shed armor and clothes. He kept his breeches and long-sleeved undershirt, keeping his skin hidden, and walked back into the lake.

Dorian, quite happy to have somewhere to bathe, pulled most of his own clothes off and dove right back in. He swam, letting the cold wash away the grime and smother his thoughts, until his feet couldn’t reach the ground anymore. When he turned around, he saw Lan submerged to the waist and watching him, head tilted to the side.

“See something you like?” teased Dorian despite himself.

“I-uh… you swim well.”

“Do I?”

Dorian swam over. Lan’s eyes ostensibly slipped to his arms, to the water streaming down his muscles.

 _What do you want?_ thought Dorian. _What is it you want from me?_ But all Lan said was, “I can’t swim.”

Dorian dug his feet into the dirt below. “You can’t?” Lan shook his head. “Good thing we are going to a desert.”

“But… How do you do it?”

Dorian snorted a laugh. “You don’t need to sound so mystified. It’s the easiest thing. The water holds you up, you just have to flap hands and feet in your prefered direction.”

“That’s too simple.”

“Because it is.” To illustrate, he lied flat on his back, and with a small movement from his feet, glided away from Lan.

Dubious but still trusting, Lan lowered himself into the water and pushed with his feet. He immediately dropped under. Dorian came over but he’d already recovered his footing, coughing and spluttering.

“I knew it couldn’t be simple!” His hair stuck to his forehead, his arms splashed furiously around.

“Maker’s breath,” laughed Dorian. “You look like a corpse rising from the depths.”

“Why do I sink? You float! Is it the lyrium? It is too heavy?” Dorian laughed harder, which annoyed Lan. “How is this funny?”

“It’s not the lyrium, Inquisitor. You weren’t flat.”

“Flat?”

“Here, take my hands.” Lan did as asked, gripping both of Dorian’s hands as soon as they were offered. “I’m going to pull you, and you are going to lie as flat as you can and let the water hold you up. Ready?”

Dorian kicked and pulled Lan after him.

“Woah--” gasped Lan, but he dutifully listened to Dorian’s instructions and let the water do the work as his skinny body went horizontal on the surface.

Dorian grinned. "Hold on to my shoulders and keep yourself flat."

Again, Lan did as instructed without asking question. Dorian then started swimming toward the center of the lake, pulling the elf along with him. When he stopped, Lan cried out as his body immediately started to sink, but Dorian held him up.

“Swing your legs. Gently!” he added after Lan kicked him in the knee.

“Sorry,” squeaked Lan, slowing his movements. His eyes widened a little as the water did its job and held him up.

“See? It is easy. Do the same with your arms and you won’t need my support.”

Lan tried it. He looked at Dorian, with his shining eyes and his full lips, and beamed.

Emboldened, Lan tried a few things, splashing around until he managed to do something that resembled swimming without help. If he went under, Dorian was there to fish him up, and after the third time it happened Lan was having fun and laughing at his own failed attempts.

At one point, Dorian lost sight of him entirely under the dark waters -until he felt arms wrap around his middle and a weight drag him down. He pulled Lan back up with him as he kicked to the surface, and the damned elf was laughing hard enough that he accidentally swallowed some water.

“That,” said Dorian triumphantly as Lan, now clinging to Dorian’s shoulders, coughed everything out, “is what you deserve for being such a pain.”

“I don’t deserve to choke for that!” protested Lan. “But maybe for that...” And the bastard actually put all his weight onto Dorian’s shoulders and pushed him back under.

Dorian swam back up and broke the surface to hear Lan still laughing. For good measure, he splashed water into the elf’s face. Lan responded in kind, but Dorian avoided it by ducking under the water. When he resurfaced however, Lan had been lying in wait, and he was immediately smashed in the face by a magically powered wave of water.

“Cheater,” Dorian growled while Lan was threatening to drown by laughing too much to be able to keep himself afloat.

Dorian unleashed his own magic, and formed a thin watery tentacle which he skillfully ordered to dive into Lan’s ear. The elf let out an outraged squawk, scratching his now water-filled ear. Dorian was already preparing his next move, calling a wave and shaping it into a hand so he could smash it over Lan’s head. But Lan formed a barrier around himself at the last second, and the water splashed harmlessly over it.

“You taught me to cheat!” Lan shouted, and then called a gust of wind to punch into the lake, forming a giant wave that engulfed Dorian and threw him backward.

Magic, it turned out, enhanced water fights exponentially.

When they finally swam back to shore, tired and in Dorian’s case quite a bit poorer in mana, Lan was breathless with exercise and laughter, cheeks flushed and lips reddened. He took Dorian’s hand to pull him out of the water.

“We’re going to freeze,” he said, giggly and giddy. “Night’s cold.”

“Not if you’re with me.”

Dorian gestured toward one of the small bushes littering the shore. It caught fire at his bidding, crackling happily. Shivering, Lan picked up his clothes and gravitated toward the flames. He sat on a nearby rock, eyes resting a moment on the fire before looking up Dorian and smirking.

“Your moustache’s all ruffled.”

“Whose fault is that?” asked Dorian, smoothing the offending hair back into place.

“Yours. You pushed me first.”

With a resigned sigh, Dorian joined him next to the fire. “That’s true. I only have myself to blame.”

Lan tilted to the side, resting his head on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“I told you, swimming is the easiest thing.”

“Not just that. Thank you for being here.”

“Where else would I be?” asked Dorian, puzzled.

“Back in Skyhold. Safe.” Lan’s eyes closed, hands extended toward the flames.

“I would not want to be safe in Skyhold. I didn’t join the Inquisition to stay behind its walls.”

“I know,” said Lan.

Then, in a voice so quiet Dorian wondered if he was meant to have heard it at all, he whispered, “I’m scared.”

Helplessness punched Dorian in the guts. The same sort of feeling he felt every time Lan’s past reared its ugly head. He wanted to help -oh, more than anything, he wanted to help. He wanted to know the exact words, to string them together in the right order, a magic incantation to break a curse.

Other words burned his lips. He wanted to tell Lan that he was scared, too, but not for himself. He wanted to say that he’d joined the Inquisition fully expecting to die, that striking a blow against the people who embraced the very values that had destroyed his family and forced him out of Tevinter was worth more than his safety. And while he’d always expected death to be scary, he’d thought staring at oblivion would be the worst part... he had been wrong. It turned out the worst part was knowing that people would grieve for him. That an elf who had cried for him, protected him, done his best to keep him safe, would grieve for him.

He wanted to say he was going to do his very best to stay alive, because he couldn’t imagine being the reason Lan was in pain. And he hoped, with all his heart, that Lan would do the same.

He kept quiet. He coaxed the flames forward, toward the slim hands asking for warmth.

Just a distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of words to say : Lan is something that Dorian doesn't quite know how to handle. 
> 
> confession : when I first started writing this fic, I was doing it from Dorian's POV. I quickly realized that I couldn't do everything I wanted that way, so I switched to Lan's. But I liked writing Dorian's side, even if it was a little more intimidating. It's a lot of fun. So I thought I'd have my cake and eat it too with this little interlude. 
> 
> Next stop is Adamant. It's going to hurt.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares and memories.

Lan blinked at a green, featureless sky. His arms stretched on either side of him, the ground under him hard and more slimy than damp.

Why was the sky green? He felt weightless and heavy, hot and cold, maybe somewhere in-between. There was pressure on his body, in his body, a tingling sensation from his teeth down to his fingernails, scratching his ribcage as it went.

Varric’s shout broke through his thoughts. “Maker’s balls!”

Lan sat up with a start. The dwarf was here, so were Fenris, Alistair and Dorian, slowly picking themselves up from the slimy stone they’d all landed on with groans and whimpers. The world around them was barren, bathed in this sickly green glow, eerily quiet and utterly unfamiliar.

 _Right_. The Wardens. The fight at Adamant, the race to get to Clarel in time. Fenris had attacked Erimond, and in retaliation the Magister had called Corypheus’ dragon down on the fortress and tried to escape. They’d caught up with him in time to see Clarel kill him -then the dragon kill Clarel. And then… the floor had collapsed. And Lan had opened a rift into the Fade, before briefly losing consciousness.

He looked at Varric with wide eyes.

“I opened a rift into the Fade.”

“Believe it or not, I noticed.”

Lan looked around. They were the only signs of life, the only sources of sound as far as he could tell.

“How did you do that?” asked Dorian. He sounded halfway between awed and panicking. “We’re here -we are physically standing in the Fade!”

“I-I don’t know. I felt the power surge, I had to try.” He looked at the Anchor. It was silent.

“How do we get back?” asked Fenris in a clipped voice.

“That is an excellent question, my glowy friend,” said Dorian.

Fenris threw him a glare that would have killed a small child.

Erimond had taken pleasure in taunting everyone, but his smug words and nonchalant demeanor while people were slaughtered and possessed might as well have been daggers thrown directly into Fenris’ heart. And when the bridge had collapsed under them, Lan had seen him pick Hawke by the waist and throw her to safety, saving her from getting stuck here with them -but sending her right back into a demon-ridden battle with a dragon flying overhead, without knowing if she would survive.

Now here they were, in the Fade, with two mages and lyrium markings. Tasty little morsels for any passing demon. Lan did not blame Fenris for his devastating mood.

“Can’t you open another rift?” asked Varric. “The other way?”

Lan looked at the Anchor, dead in his hand, and shook his head. “It’s not responding…”

“Good,” said Fenris flatly. “The one thing that could help us does not work. We are stuck in the Fade with a Magister.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to have to try harder.”

“I am not trying to bait you. It’s a warning for everyone.”

“Tell you what : the moment I start talking about paying the Black City a visit, you have my permission to kill me without a second thought. Deal?”

“I do not need your permission to kill you.”

Varric sighed heavily. “Alright. Everyone’s on edge, we don’t need you two arguing on top of it. You’ll flex your muscles at each other once we’re out of here.” He turned to Lan and offered him a hand to pull him off the floor. “Nothing broken?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Great. Keep thinking that. Now, does anyone have something relevant to say?”

“The rift at Adamant,” said Alistair. “It was massive. Can’t we leave through it?”

“Do you see it anywhere?”

Rocks were floating in the sky and blocking most of it from view.

“It can’t be far,” said Alistair, hopeful. “We’ll find it.”

“I miss Chuckles,” said Varric wistfully.

They started walking. It was a hesitant cortege, with Lan finding himself at the front with Dorian while Fenris walked far behind with Varric, his sword clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

Lan’s thoughts floated back to Adamant. He’d seen so many people fall. He had no idea who was still alive and who was dead, and the battle was still going while they were trapped here. Everyone who’d seen the bridge collapse would think the Inquisitor and envoy of Andraste had fallen. Death, death, death…

His hand found his belt and thumbed the sheath of a small knife. It was only a tool to cut ropes or reluctant plants, very small… but very sharp. The last time Lan had contemplated being stuck in the Fade he’d taken a dagger with him. He glanced at Dorian, who was too enthralled by his surroundings to notice Lan’s hesitation, and forced his hand to let go of the knife.

They found the rift, glowing in the far distance. With a collective resigned sigh they aimed for it. At least nothing had jumped at them yet, thought Lan glumly.

Which is when they came upon Divine Justinia standing calmly around a corner, waiting for them.

“It can’t be,” breathed Alistair.

“You’re dead,” said Varric bluntly.

“This is not the Divine,” intervened Dorian. “This has to be a spirit…”

“Or a demon,” added Fenris.

Divine Justinia was unperturbed. “You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand in the Fade yourselves.”

“So you are the Divine?” asked Lan, confused.

“Proving my existence will take time we do not have,” she said.

“Agreed,” said Fenris. “Let’s leave. Don’t listen to it.”

“I am here to help,” said the Divine.

Fenris huffed. “Of course you are.”

“That is a pretty demonic thing to say,” agreed Varric.

She ignored them “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

“I don’t remember a lot of things.”

“The memories you have lost were taken by a demon that serves Corypheus.”

“Sure, why not,” said Varric quietly.

“It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds on memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The False Calling was its work.”

“Is that so?” asked Alistair, eyes narrowed. “Can I kill it?”

“You will have your chance, Grey Warden. This place of Darkness is its lair.” She turned to Lan. “When you entered the Fade in Haven, the demon took a part of you. You will need to recover it before you do anything else.” She held out a hand, palm up, inviting Lan to take it. “I can help you, if you let me.”

“Help me… get my memories back?”

She nodded, her hand waiting.

Lan stared at the hand offered. He was so used to missing parts of his past. He’d assumed his memories from the Conclave had gone through the same process, swallowed by whatever mechanism messed with his mind on a regular basis.

But it was not the case. For the first time in his life he had a clear culprit and, if she wasn’t lying, he would have a real answer.

“Inquisitor,” warned Fenris.

Lan gritted his teeth, cursed every single thing in his life that had led to him being here, and took her hand.

There was a flash. Something pierced through his mind, light exploded behind his eyes, and-

He saw himself run inside the Temple. He saw Corypheus standing there, and Grey Warden mages holding Divine Justinia in some sort of magical trap. The orb in Corypheus’ hands was sucking all the life force out of the Divine, but Lan’s interruption distracted Corypheus just enough for her to slap it out of his hands.

It rolled toward Lan. He reacted and dove for it. He had no plan ; all he knew was that this thing should not be in this distorted being’s possession.

It hurt. It burned in his hand and shrieked at him. All the lyrium in his body lit up at once. All his energy left him in a massive wave, sucked into the power his markings and the orb asked for. He fell down, heard Corypheus scream. The Temple exploded.

Another memory. He was in the Fade, he was running, from demons. He was holding the Divine’s hand, pulling her behind him as she slowed down on her tired legs. They reached a rift. Lan let go of her and ran toward it.

Her cry made him turn around just before he went through. A demon had caught her. Lan ran back, complete panic engulfing him, and threw himself down to grab her desperate hand. The demons were pulling on her, tearing her apart. Lan wasn’t strong enough, he couldn’t resist, he was getting pulled down with her.

She looked him in the eyes.

“Go.”

And she released him. Lan screamed wordlessly as she was dragged away, but more demons were climbing up to him and he scrambled back, into the Rift behind him.

A flash, and then he was back, Dorian’s hand on his shoulder, and Fenris staring, wide eyed, at him.

“I saw that,” mumbled Fenris, dumbstruck.

“The Divine called to you for help,” said Alistair.

Lan looked down at his hand, then at the spirit behind them.

“She saved me,” he said, breathless. “And this…” He looked at the Anchor. “Corypheus was right. It’s a mistake.”

“Damn, Pointy,” said Varric. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to touch dangerous magical artifacts?”

“So this really can’t be the Divine,” said Alistair.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” said the Divine.

A bright light enveloped her. When it died down, she was flying, a being of pure orange light hovering above them. It was the most reassuring thing Lan had seen in this desolate place.

Suddenly, a shift in the air. Lan turned around. Demons were coming out of the woodwork, materializing out of every shadow or shifting ray of light.

“The Nightmare has found us,” said the spirit -and she disappeared, taking with her that warm light.

“Not helping!” shouted Varric after her.

The demons were coming for them. Lan quickly grabbed his staff and cast barrier after barrier around everyone.

“I suggest fire,” said Dorian in a conversational tone as a Despair Demon flew over their head.

Lan turned to face it, ready to strike-

> _He comes to the room they share late at night, after a day of being thrown against walls by Danarius’ magic. The Master pretends it’s to teach him how to defend himself against possession ; Lan knows it’s a game to him. He’s sore, bleeding, his ears ring._
> 
> _She lies in her bed, as always. Her energy has been waning. She eats less and less, chokes on water. Her eyes are closed, her face gaunt and pale. He touches a hand to her cheek. It has been a long time since she stopped responding to her children’s presence. To anything._
> 
> _He goes through the motions. He pulls the sheets off, grabs the basin of freezing water in the corner, and methodically washes her, cleans the cuts that keep reopening. He brushes her hair, braids it carefully. Then he wraps her into the blanket, wishing he had something cleaner, hoping it will keep her warm enough._
> 
> _He sits on the floor and listens to the thin breaths escaping her dried lips. Electricity forms in his hand. That is one thing Danarius does not realize -Lan is not supposed to use his magic much, only the very basics so he can keep working in the estate without Danarius worrying about possession. But he observes the Master carefully every day. He learns._
> 
> _Mother taught him barriers years ago. He keeps them thin, brittle, so Danarius does not notice them -but they give him a few seconds to observe the Master’s hands as he attacks, how they draw magical patterns in the air, how he pulls on the Fade to form his spells. Ice was his first pick, so he could soothe his and Mother’s pain. Now, he has found electricity. It makes sparks in the dark, noise in the silence. And it is invitingly deadly. Instantaneous, painless, bloodless._
> 
> _He closes his fists and lets his magic recede. He will never be brave enough to do it. He hates himself for it._

‘Lan. Lan!’

Lan blinked, at Dorian who was holding him by the shoulders. The dying shrieks of several Despair Demons surrounded him.

“Dorian.”

“Fasta vass, Lan!” Dorian shook him. “Don’t do that again!”

“Stop glowering, Broddy, he’s not possessed,” said Varric from somewhere around.

“I am not _glowering_.”

Lan held on to Dorian. He remembered. He remembered the woman with the green eyes -his mother. A mage. Taken away for a blood ritual that destroyed her mind. Lan had tended to her for so long, feeding and bathing her every day… there had been cuts all over her body, Lan had never understood, but they traced a pattern on her skin. Lyrium lines, without the lyrium. A test, or a calibration, or something else, but Danarius had used her to perfect his ritual--

Dorian’s hand clasped the back of his neck. “Are you with me?”

“We need to go,” said Alistair. “Before more demons find us.”

Dorian pulled Lan to his feet. “Come on. You’ll be all right.”

They’d barely taken a few steps when a deep voice rumbled, coming out of everywhere at the same time.

“Ah, we have a visitor.”

All brought their weapons up, looking around anxiously. Dorian brought Lan closer.

“Some foolish little boy stole the fear I kindly lifted off his shoulders. You should have left it where it lay, forgotten.”

Lan was tempted to agree. His memories haunted him.

“There is so much more you forgot,” said the voice as if it read Lan’s mind. “Do you want to know? Do you want to see exactly how broken you are?”

> _He’s lying in a dark room. There’s blood, sticky and wet, streaming down cuts all over his body. There’s someone above him with a bloodied knife. They’re muttering under their breath._
> 
> _‘Should have been more careful--… wasting all this lyrium--… should have taken the other one--…’_
> 
> _They press the knife into his skin, and it’s agony, but Lan can’t move. He can’t scream. The person curses then waves a hand, and Lan can only try to breathe as something under his skin, into his skin, rises to the surface and pierces through him. The person swears loudly._
> 
> _‘Fasta vass, what now?’ They try to touch him and are pushed back. ‘… a barrier? Damn it.’_

A hand shook Lan harshly out of the memory.

“Don’t listen,” whispered Dorian urgently.

“Greetings, Dorian,” drawled the Nightmare. “It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

“Rather uncalled for,” said Dorian.

Lan pushed his memories aside. He needed his head, they needed to get out of here ; everything else… he would think about it later.

They continued. Spiders crawled out of shadows and they had to stomp them with various cries of disgust, but it wasn’t much of a challenge. It angered the Nightmare into coming back.

“And Fenris! Or should I say Leto?”

Fenris did not answer. His lips twisted into a snarl.

“You didn’t see where you threw Hawke, did you? You didn’t see her land. She might have fallen to her death.”

“I saw her!” said Lan immediately. “She was safe!”

“Are you going to believe him? A so-called Herald of Andraste who pretends to be of your kin? How could you have forgotten a little brother, Leto.”

“I am not listening to you, Demon,” growled Fenris.

“You competed for those markings. Did he compete as well? Did you defeat him? What did you have to do to him to win?”

“Stop it!”

“Another interesting question : what did _he_ do to _you_?”

Fenris glanced at Lan very briefly before returning his gaze ahead. The Nightmare didn’t give up.

“Do you really think Hawke loves you? You were with her all these years and you failed to protect her even once. You watched everyone she loves die, you watched the Mage betray her, and you did nothing until it was too late.”

“Broody-”

“I am not listening to him!” barked Fenris before Varric could continue.

But he was listening. Lan could see it in the rigidity of his shoulders, in the clench of his jaw, heard it in the glee seeping through the Nightmare’s voice.

“You hated the Mage because he had no control, but you are no better, are you? An attack dog is what you are.”

Demons detached themselves from the shadows. The Nightmare shut up as Terrors snarled at them.

Fenris let out a cry and leapt at them. His sword cleaved right through one of them. He turned around and cut another one -but whether he was distracted or overwhelmed, the Terror saw an opportunity and its sharp claws took a swing.

Fenris staggered back and Lan’s heart missed a beat. He ran to him, barely conscious of anything else on the battlefield. He cast a barrier over him, as solid as he possibly could. The Terror bumped against it and Lan immediately followed with a fireball that engulfed the demon in a matter of seconds.

“Fenris!”

He was hunched over, a hand to his head. Lan didn’t have time to help him. A Despair Demon jumped at him.

> ' _It will be all right, Leralan.’_
> 
> _‘Mother… Mother, wait! Where are they taking you?’_
> 
> _‘I will-… I will be back. You have to be brave for now, understood?’_
> 
> _‘Mother!’_
> 
> _She hugs him. Her tears wet his cheek as she whispers. ‘Keep yourself safe, my child. Keep your magic hidden, do not let them use you. Never use it against them. Use it to protect yourself. To protect your brother. He needs you.’_
> 
> _She is torn from him, faceless figures drag her away. Lan’s knees buckle._
> 
> _He doesn’t move, not until Leto comes into the room and sees him._
> 
> _‘What happened?’ he asks in alarm. ‘Leralan? Where’s Mother?’_

Lan threw himself out of the memory. “Not. Now!” he cried. He was not going to be toyed with while people were dying around him.

He hit the demon in the face with the blade on his staff. It recoiled with an ear-splitting shriek, right into Alistair’s sword.

The last of them fell to a crossbow bolt. Lan turned back to Fenris.

“Fenris! Are you all right? Dorian, help!”

Dorian ran to them, muttering curses under his breath. Fenris flinched away from him.

“Do not touch me.”

“Fenris,” Dorian said with urgency, “I’ll only--”

“I don’t care,” growled Fenris.

Lan crouched down to look at Fenris’ face. An ugly gash marred his forehead and was bleeding profusely, blood dripping at the tip of his nose and his chin. His eyes were worryingly unfocused.

“Elfroot?” asked Lan. “Anyone?”

They all came up empty. They’d used their reserves at Adamant.

“I can slow the bleeding-” started Dorian.

“I said no!”

“-but obviously I won’t.”

“We have to move on!” cut in Alistair.

“I’ll take care of him,” said Varric. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder and came up to Fenris. “Come on, Broody. Use me as a crutch. I know you’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Varric,” sing songed the Nightmare. “This is all your fault. You found the red lyrium, you called Hawke to Skyhold. You couldn’t hold your friends together before, and now they are going to die because of you.”

“Keep talking, Smiley,” said Varric as he forced Fenris to hold on to his shoulder. “Up you get, you damn elf.”

Fenris stumbled, one hand trying and failing to stop the flow of blood falling into his eyes. Alistair ripped off part of his clothes for a makeshift bandage, and off they went. Lan walked close, Dorian behind him with a frustrated look on his face.

“Yes, bleed out when someone could easily save your life,” said the man, quietly enough that Fenris couldn’t hear. “That’s the intelligent thing to do.”

“He’s not going to bleed out. This is not going to kill him.”

“Maybe not, but next thing that comes at us, he won’t be able to fight it off.”

“We’ll protect him.”

“Well I wasn’t suggesting we just leave him here! But if I die because I’m busy keeping a demon off his dainty face, I reserve the right to haunt him and Hawke for eternity.”

“You’re not going to die!”

Dorian startled at the power behind Lan’s voice. “No. Of course not,’ he said. “I’m too pretty to die.”

Their path took them through a vast cave. There was no real temperature here but Lan still shivered. It was humid and slippery and Fenris stumbled even with Varric’s support. It had been a while since the Nightmare spoke, and it became clear why once they finally exited the cave.

It stood before the Rift, their only way to escape ; a spider tall as Skyhold, flesh-colored and oozing a thick green substance. And in front of it, a tall and repulsive demon, grey skin stretched over sharp bones, face somewhere between spider and maggot, and extra spider legs sticking out of its back.

The two entities turned to them, one with way too many eyes and one without but both entirely focused on them and ready to strike.

A shining light flew past them. Justinia rose toward the giant spider. There was a flash of pure light, blinding everyone for several long seconds. When it died down, the spider had crumpled to the ground.

The other Nightmare gave an enraged gurgle and threw a blast of energy outward, sending everyone flying away. Varric lost his grasp on Fenris who ended up in a heap on the floor and the Nightmare honed in on him.

Lying on his stomach, Lan threw out a hand. The electricity found target in the Nightmare, who stopped as it coursed through its body. Lan was already on his feet and running toward Fenris.

He gathered his brother in his arms. Fenris grunted, tried to push him away. Lan held on as the Nightmare roared, looming over them.

A crossbow bolt hit it and broke one of its spider-legs clean off. A sword pierced it through from behind. It shrieked, Lan felt a swell of energy as it prepared another shockwave. He managed to cast a barrier over himself and Fenris before it could release it. He heard Dorian swear, Alistair call to the Maker in anger. More demons were coming, attracted by the sound of battle and the smell of fear.

The Nightmare hit Lan’s barrier again, and again, and again. Chipping away at it piece by piece, and each new strike was a fist in Lan’s stomach. For the first hit he thought it was only fear ; by the second he understood what he was feeling was his own energy disappearing. He poured more of himself into the barrier, and he felt the full brunt of it. His head swam. He slumped against Fenris.

Why was his energy failing him, why now? The nightmare was powerful but Lan’s magic felt more frail than before, why was he so tired, his barriers were supposed to be formidable--

The barrier flickered and disappeared. The Nightmare’s claws caught Lan in the side. White hot pain flooded him, but he couldn’t move. For the first time in his remembered life, Lan’s mana was dangerously low. He scraped through his own reserves, pooling every last bit of energy in his body and re-cast the barrier as Dorian released the static cage spell he’d been preparing.

The Nightmare trembled, stuck in the middle of a maelstrom of electricity. Finally, with an enraged scream, it dissipated in a flash of green energy. The barrier immediately crumbled around Lan and Fenris and Lan’s vision went white.

“I have him!” Strong arms encircled him and lifted him up. Alistair.

Varric had Fenris. Dorian was running just in front, staff out and ready. It took Lan a second to realize what had them so panicked.

The body of the spider in front of the Rift was stirring. They ran, but Alistair was slowed down with Lan in his arms. Dorian cast a spell at the beast who reared in pain and flailed its many legs, and suddenly Alistair was thrown down.

Lan’s head was ringing. He looked up. He couldn’t see the others, the beast was blocking them from him.

“Go!” he screamed, hoping they could hear him.

The Spider was clicking at him and Alistair, delighted to have them right at its feet. Alistair’s hand grabbed Lan by the scruff of his neck and pulled him harshly to his feet.

“Run, Inquisitor,” he said.

“What-no-”

“I’ll distract it. You run for the Rift and you don’t look back.”

“No! We can both make it!”

“How? Careful!” Alistair pushed him away just as a spider leg descended on him.

Lan rolled over, his vision blurred, blood staining his armor and the ground under him. Alistair was staring down the giant demon, sword raised. He met Lan’s gaze for a minute and Lan only read determination in it.

No.

Alistair raised his shield. The spider hissed at him, entirely focused on him now. Lan could run for the Rift unimpeded.

No…

Alistair ran at it with a war cry on his lips. The spider dove to meet him.

“NO!”

A protective barrier sprung around the warden and the spider bounced off of it, spitting in rage. A powerful shiver ran through Lan.

“Alistair! Come back! I can’t-...”

The man ran to him and picked him up easily. The world turned on itself. It was all Lan could do to keep the barrier up, fighting to find remnants of energy deep within himself, pushing his will past the splitting headache. Until he was swallowed by an incredible pressure and the air left his lungs.

There was a moment of nothing.

And then everything.

The Rift storming above him, Grey Wardens and Inquisition forces fighting demons, screams and cries, the air thick with magic, the Anchor sputtering back to life, the hum of lyrium, the smell of blood. Hawke with Fenris’ head in her lap, pressing a cloth against the gash on his head as Varric and Cassandra protected them.

“Lan!”

Dorian skidded to his knees next to him and immediately poured healing energy into him. As his vision slowly cleared, Lan could see Alistair kneeling next to him, panting, trying to regain his voice. Slowly the Warden climbed to his feet, standing before the rift still screaming behind him.

Lan rolled out of Dorian’s touch. He called on the Anchor, for the last tendrils of strength inside him. The Rift behind him exploded as it collapsed. The demons shrieked, and the ones who didn’t fall were run through by a sword.

Everything calmed down in a matter of seconds.

Grey Wardens turned stunned eyes toward him, then toward Alistair. The silence was suffocating, until Alistair finally found his wits again. Him and Dorian helped Lan to his feet.

There was a speech, Lan was pretty sure of it. He heard voices, muffled, as if under water. Blood beat loudly in his ears, but seemed to have fled his head. Alistair stopped talking.

Eyes turned to Lan. He wanted to say something but he was too unsteady to manage anything more than whispering into Alistair’s ear. Alistair nodded.

“The Inquisition will welcome your help,” he said aloud to the Wardens. “If you want to make this right, then join us.”

A senior Wardens stepped forward. He bowed. “We will stand with the Inquisition,” he promised.

Lan blinked and then he was going down some destroyed stairs, Dorian’s arm around his waist, his legs unresponsive under him. Dorian was talking.

“You’re going to be fine, do you hear me? You’re going to be all right. Just a little more, we’re almost there. Come on, Amatus, stay awake a little longer--’

He really, really wanted to pass out, but he didn’t. He clung to Dorian and stayed wide awake as he was manhandled out of Adamant, found Cullen who hurriedly showed them toward a healer’s tent. He was still awake as blurred faces patched up his side, sending spikes of pain through his abdomen as they poked at it.

He watched Fenris being brought in right behind him, and Hawke sitting by his brother’s side, brushing his hair matted with blood out of his face, whispering calming words.

Dorian was there, looking down at him, hand on his cheek. Several liquids were poured down his throat, including one that made his whole body strum like harp strings. Lan was awake until he couldn’t anymore, and fell into a blessedly nightmare-free sleep induced by the medicine.

He woke up in the middle of the night to find Dorian asleep, sitting on a crate by his side and leaning against the tent’s pole, and Hawke who was smoothing the edge of the blanket covering Lan.

Lan blinked in the dim light thrown by a single courageous candle. Hawke smiled gently.

“Did I wake you? Sorry. Just checking on you.”

“Huh…”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Lan said. “So… tired…”

She nodded. “You lost a lot of blood very quickly, though thankfully your wound will heal well. The more pressing problem is that you used all your magic until you had nothing left.”

Lan frowned. He raised an arm, with some difficulties, and pulled up the sleeve to look at his markings. They looked unchanged.

“I… I use these…”

Hawke nodded. She gently took his hand and slipped it back under the cover.

“I don’t think they worked in the Fade -Fenris said his didn’t respond right. But you still cast so many barriers so quickly, and so strong…” She arranged the blanket, smoothing it over and over. “Varric and Alistair told me what you did for Fenris. I don’t know what I would have-... If he hadn’t come back-...” She stopped herself. Her eyes shone in the dark.

“It wasn’t just me,” Lan said.

“I know. But you went just that little bit farther.” She laughed softly. “You are so much alike, Fenris and you. Not just in looks. He would have thrown himself over you too, you know. As much as he likes to brood, he has a bigger heart than he thinks.”

Lan blinked, waited for the small pinpricks of light to stop dancing before his eyes and looked at Hawke. “I don’t know… I remembered some things. I don’t know how to make sense of it all but it’s- it’s there... I don’t know how to tell him.”

She sighed. “Whatever you decide to do, he’ll listen. Today was hard on him, but he cares. Just… thank you. We’ve faced death many times the two of us, but knowing he died in the Fade, so far from me…” She didn’t finish, but Lan understood.

She returned to Fenris’ side. Lan looked at Dorian, still snoring softly, and fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh boy, there's some concrete, complete memories for Lan! ... finally. A few answers, and this time he does remember them. Which just means more trauma for the boy. But hey, he learned his actual name! Maybe a clue why he responds to 'Lan' so easily.
> 
> And oh, Fenris. I imagine Adamant's basically his worst nightmare. Tevinter Magisters forcefully putting demons into people, talking about enslaving the whole of Thedas, blood magic wreaking havoc and showing just its worst possible face, and he had to leave Hawke in the middle of all this was he was literally stuck in the Fade with another Tevinter. I'm thinking he spent the whole time in the Fade having a very long panic attack.
> 
> oh one last thing, I obviously invented the part with the mother, but I thought that for a ritual that's so obscure and complicated, and that according to Fenris cost a metric fuckton of money, Danarius would have done some tests before going for the real thing... and since Varania is a mage, it's not far fetched that the mother would be one too. It's also canon that Tevinter mages have no issues enslaving other mages, but it would be quite a risk to have one untrained in your estate, so they do train slave mages against possession. 
> 
> so Lan might have forgotten a lot of it, but he used to sneakily study while Danarius thought he was only giving him a very basic magical education. One thing he very much did not forget are his barriers, and it'll become clear how and why later...


End file.
